countdown - part 2
Twenty
“Brod keeps her own life a secret from herself. Like Yankel, she repeats things until they are true, or until she can’t tell whether they are true or not.” -Jonathan Safran Foer
He says, “Ah, Tsuna. You worry too much.”
He can say that, but it’s an anniversary day, and whatever he did-whatever Byakuran did-wasn’t perfect. It’s an anniversary day, and Yamamoto is hurting. He hurts every year.
Don’t worry. He says.
“I’m not worrying.”
Yamamoto throws his head back and laughs, almost as careless as ever, but…just a little cautious, today. Tsuna can smell wine on his breath. A red; a Taurasi, maybe, or a Lacryma Christi, knowing Yamamoto. Self-medicating with Italy. He always has felt the power of symbolism more than Tsuna.
“Tsuna, you’re always worrying,” he says, fond and easy. “You and Hayato. Stress is bad for you, you know.”
Tsuna and Gokudera conspired together on this, as they do every year. No matter what, Yamamoto finds he has nothing to do on an anniversary day. And he has either Tsuna or Gokudera-ideally, both, though it was impossible this year-to spend it with him.
They’re trying to protect him, which is, of course, ridiculous. They’re trying to keep him safe and whole, even though it’s years too late for that.
But he lets them try. He lets them; he knows what it means to them.
“It’s our job,” Tsuna says. “If we don’t worry, we won’t know who we are.”
Yamamoto laughs. Tsuna did mean it as a joke, even if he suspects that, for Gokudera, at least, it’s literally true.
“Well, you’ve got plenty to worry about even if you stop worrying about me. Right?”
“Maybe. But we’re not going to stop worrying about you, so let that idea go.”
Yamamoto shakes his head fondly. “Have you ever counted all your scars, Boss?” he asks, a casual non-sequitur, leaning over to rummage around in his top desk drawer until he finds the baseball he keeps there.
He says not to worry, and then he says these really worrying things. “Counted? Um, no. Well, not since…”
“Since you were a kid, right?” Yamamoto smiles and tosses the baseball into the air, catches it. “I counted mine yesterday. Just, I don’t know. Because.”
Because he was in too much pain to focus on much else, probably. Tsuna frowns.
“You should try it sometime.”
“Why?” Tsuna asks, wondering where this is headed. Every once in while, Yamamoto will say something horribly profound, come out with a devastating life lesson. It’s always important, but it’s also always hard to figure out what he means. Tsuna’s never sure if Yamamoto knows quite what he means, himself.
“Oh, it’s funny. You remember getting every one, but there still seem to be a lot more than there should be.” He does a series of impossibly graceful tossing-and-catching tricks with the ball. “You know, I tried to count Hayato’s once.” Toss, catch, twirl, toss, catch. “Couldn’t do it. Too many. And with burns, sometimes you can’t tell where one ends and the next begins.”
Tsuna carefully accepts this, and all that it is. He silently promises Yamamoto that once he understands what it means, he’ll try to help.
Apart from anything else, he knows this is probably the most romantic thing he’ll ever hear Yamamoto say. It’s sad and beautiful and sick, but that’s true of most of the last six years.
“Hey, the Hanshin Tigers are playing the Red Sox today,” Yamamoto announces in an abrupt shift of mood, tone, and posture. He tucks the baseball back into its drawer and closes it. “Pre-season. Want to watch?”
“Will it be a good game?” Tsuna asks, refusing to let his voice waver or catch. If Yamamoto can do this, so can he.
“Mm, maybe not, but the fans are crazy.”
“Okay.” Tsuna’s smile is only slightly stiff. “Let’s watch the crazy fans.”
* * *
Someone has stolen the Lightning box weapon, or at least, that’s the working theory. Not that Tsuna will be remotely surprised if it turns out that Lambo just forgot it in, say, a candy store.
Hibari, though, in a curious show of confidence in Lambo, is certain that it was indeed stolen. He’s even picked out a likely perpetrator, assigned him a laundry list of additional crimes against order, and proposed hunting him down and killing him immediately. Tsuna hasn’t seen any evidence, per se, of any of this, but that’s not slowing Hibari down at all. He’s in his this-man-is-guilty-of-something mode.
This is a sign that Hibari is bored and Tsuna really needs to find him something to do. Most of the time, Hibari keeps himself occupied, but it can be a real disaster when he doesn’t.
“We’re not killing him,” Tsuna says calmly.
“Don’t make the mistake of thinking you control me, Sawada Tsunayoshi,” Hibari says, equally calmly.
“Don’t think I’ll let you get away with mouthing off to the Tenth, asshole,” Gokudera says. Not calmly at all. Hibari looks mildly interested, as he always does when there’s a fight in the offing.
Yamamoto laughs and Tsuna sighs. “Hibari-san, I’m saying it’s not a good idea to kill him. We’re not sure he’s responsible. Please wait until we’re sure.”
“You herbivores are always so worried about the lives of every other herbivore,” Hibari drawls, deadpan disgusted.
“He’ll always be there to be killed later,” Tsuna insists, a little queasy. “But death is a mistake you can’t fix. You can’t make up for it. You can’t change your mind later. Herbivore or not, I don’t like making mistakes, and I especially don’t like making irrevocable mistakes.”
They wait for Hibari to respond. They wait quite a while. Gokudera visibly chokes back any number of things he’d like to add.
And then Hibari, in a supremely disturbing gesture, bows slightly and leaves the room.
“…Whoa,” Yamamoto says, summing up Tsuna’s feelings nicely.
“That’s the Tenth for you,” Gokudera announces, satisfied. “So what are we going to do with the guy if he actually did all that stuff?”
I’ll feed him to Hibari. “Let’s figure out if he’s guilty before we start coming up with punishments, okay?”
“You got it, Tenth!” Gokudera turns to his computer screen with a dedicated vengeance, looking up…well, who knows?
Tsuna’s pleased with how that went. It’s hard to talk to Hibari and Gokudera at the same time; they want such different things from him. They want different sides of him.
Tsuna and Gokudera have recently changed leads when it comes to ruthlessness. They both know it, but Tsuna tries not to rub it in. (He vowed to stop using hyper mode as soon as he noticed. Predictably, that resolution didn’t last a week.) Hibari, on the other hand, finds Tsuna most interesting when he’s being ruthless.
It’s tricky to keep them both happy at once; a kind of sleight of hand. But Tsuna did it, and he even has an appreciative audience of one to witness his success.
Yamamoto, official manager of Gokudera, is smiling at him.
* * *
Twenty-One
“Why do you laugh? Is it because you hate the sound of laughing?” -William Faulkner
He says, “You’re a fool, Sawada Tsunayoshi.”
“You’re welcome, Mukuro,” Tsuna sighs, gazing around at the soothing green lights and listening to the regular beeps of the machines in the base’s hospital room. “I’ll break you out of prison any time. How do you feel? Better, I’m guessing.”
Mukuro eyes him, suspicious and confused. Not a typical Mukuro expression at all. It’s very wrong to find it funny.
It would be funnier, of course, if Mukuro weren’t weak and washed out, almost swallowed by the too-white sheets of his bed. He looks horribly fragile. Ken and Chikusa swear he heals quickly; Tsuna hopes they’re right.
Tsuna knows this isn’t a particularly safe attitude, but he has trouble seeing Mukuro as a threat. After all, none of Mukuro’s mind-wandering chaos has ever harmed the Vongola in any way, and it just seems like…if he really wanted to take down the Vongola, he could have done it by now. He could at least have tried. Or, you know, refrained from going out of his way to help them.
Tsuna doubts that anyone really knows what Mukuro’s after. Mukuro least of all. Tsuna won’t underestimate a deadly, possibly hostile illusionist; that would be a terrible mistake. But he doesn’t feel the need to actively worry about him, either. For now.
“I had my own reasons for helping you escape,” Tsuna says. “I needed you free.”
Mukuro relaxes. He’s decided Tsuna’s just using him, and that, he’s comfortable with. He has a very warped view of personal relationships, and it makes Tsuna tired.
“Your own reasons, hm?” Mukuro murmurs, smiling faintly.
“I need another illusionist. I can’t ask Chrome to do this alone.”
“Yes, you always take good care of my dear Chrome, don’t you?”
As Gokudera will never forgive Kaoru for stabbing Yamamoto, so Mukuro will never forgive Tsuna for allowing Spade to capture Chrome.
“No,” Tsuna admits. “I try, but…no. I always let her down.”
Mukuro frowns, more off-balance than angry. He doesn’t know how to deal with honesty.
“I’ve tried to make sure she can take care of herself, instead. And now she can.” Tsuna would almost like to see what Chrome could do to Daemon Spade, at this point. Or he would if not for the lifelong nightmares that watching such a thing would undoubtedly cause.
Hibari would love to see it, though. Hibari would buy tickets. He’s spent years training Chrome to trash enemies, after all. And Chrome, in return, has spent years teaching Hibari to fight illusionists. Tsuna doesn’t plan to mention any of that to Mukuro, who may already know, in any case.
Mukuro narrows his eyes thoughtfully and considers Tsuna and his feeble justifications. Without sharing his judgment one way or another, he changes the subject. “Chrome mentioned that you wanted a mist type. But she couldn’t explain why, instead of using Fran or Mammon, you chose to break me out of prison.”
“Mammon says there’s no money in it. Fran says it’s against his principles.”
Mukuro blinks slowly. “Fran has principles?”
Tsuna shrugs. “It was a surprise to me.”
“What could you possibly want someone to do that would go against Fran’s…principles?”
“Cross-dressing. He says the hat was bad enough. He’s never actually worn the hat, but apparently he remembers having to wear the hat. I don’t know. I figured you wouldn’t care; you’ve been sharing a body with Chrome for ages.”
Mukuro is staring, unreadable and a little unnerving. “Sawada Tsunayoshi. You broke me out of the highest security prison in the world so that I could cross-dress for you?”
Yes. No. Tsuna owes Chrome quite a bit, is the thing, and at this point, he owes Ken and Chikusa, too. And Chrome and Ken and Chikusa need Mukuro.
Besides, Tsuna’s never liked the idea of Mukuro being stuck in one of those vats. Mukuro is his Mist Guardian, and even in the unlikely event that he turns traitor, Tsuna would prefer to be betrayed by someone he hasn’t abandoned to float alone in a vat. If Mukuro betrayed him while trapped in there, well. That wouldn’t be so much betrayal as just vengeance.
Tsuna hates the idea of those vats, and, by logical extension, of the Vindice. They call themselves a police force, but Tsuna never agreed to support them or to live by their rules-whatever those rules are. Nor does he see that his family derives any particular benefit from their existence. That adds up to the Vindice being less police, and more the most powerful, unquestioned mafia family of all.
Tsuna likes to remind them sometimes that they don’t hold all the cards. He likes to remind them that he may eventually get tired of their so-called laws.
Reborn likes to remind Tsuna that this behavior will probably get them all killed. It’s a point of debate between them.
The cross-dressing isn’t a reason, it’s an excuse. Tsuna has reasons, but they’re confusing and at least half of them are irrational, and he doesn’t have the strength to go into it. Mukuro wouldn’t believe him anyway. So in response to the question, all he says is, “I guess.”
Then he settles back and waits for Mukuro to stop laughing. He expects it will take a while.
* * *
“We’re not doing anything until we know for sure,” Tsuna says. He feels like he spends a lot of time saying that.
“Yes, Boss,” Chrome answers meekly.
“That would be wrong. And dangerous. And wrong.”
“Okay, Boss.”
“This isn’t as funny as you think it is.”
“Boss,” she says, “it really, really is.”
Chrome has cheered up a lot in the months since Mukuro escaped. Compared to before, in fact, she’s positively giddy. If Tsuna had known this would happen, he would have engineered a prison break much sooner. And the cheer stays strong even when Mukuro mysteriously (disturbingly) vanishes for weeks without a word of warning. Well, presumably he’s still in touch with Chrome.
It’s nice to see Chrome happy. It’s really nice. But at the same time, the cheer can be sort of…not creepy, he wouldn’t say creepy. Unexpected, though. Scary, even.
At the moment, he and Chrome are sitting in a bar in Shinjuku, trying to act like a couple (with limited success), and trying to eavesdrop on the high-level yakuza two tables down (with rather more success). It’s not as easy as it would be in Italy, but it’s doable.
The yakuza in question is a member of the Goto-gumi, which has fallen on hard times. They split in two at one point, and were all but absorbed into the violent, unpredictable Kodokai. Now even the Kodokai has fallen on hard times. Both groups are wildly unpopular with the police, and their Yamaguchi-gumi overlords, though thriving themselves, are apparently unable or unwilling to rescue them. They’re falling apart, and flailing as they go.
And last week, Hibari encountered a lowly Goto-gumi member in Namimori, apparently intent on expanding territory. Whatever happened to that poor chinpira, Tsuna doesn’t know. He very much doubts the man ever managed to report back to his superiors.
His superiors, who must be desperate to try setting up shop in Namimori, of all places. Hibari was predictably outraged by the very idea, and dove into finding out who-why-how with single-minded ferocity. He got his answers in short order, but luckily for the greater Tokyo area, he was feeling too protective of Namimori to leave. So he demanded that Tsuna and Chrome take care of it.
He actually hunted them down and delegated the job to them by name. It was surreal. Tsuna was touched. Gokudera had a fit. Chrome started laughing and hasn’t really stopped since.
According to Hibari, Nakamura Seiji, the yakuza two tables down, is the mastermind of the Namimori expansion plan. According to Hibari, if they eliminate him, they eliminate the entire problem.
Tsuna spent around three hours convincing Gokudera that he and Chrome would be fine handling this on their own. After all, no once could plan an ambush if no one knew they were coming.
He spent the entire train ride to Tokyo convincing Chrome that they didn’t need to kill Nakamura, and also that they should try to firmly establish his guilt before they took him down, because Hibari’s rage-motivated information gathering wasn’t always as meticulous as, say, Gokudera’s or Basil’s. Chrome was shockingly resistant to (though amused by) both suggestions, but Tsuna wore her down in the end.
Tsuna’s only been to Tokyo twice before, once on a school trip. It’s distressingly telling, the places he’s been. All over southern Italy, but never far north-Naples, Palermo, Rome. He’s been to Yokohama and Kobe, Bangkok and Vladivostok. Select cities, and select parts of those cities. He only gets to see nice places when he’s not working. Or at least, that was true until now.
He’s been to Tokyo, but he’s never been to this bright, sparkling, lively section of Shinjuku before, and it’s making him nervous. Though it is, he thinks, oddly safe-feeling. Despite the yakuza in the room.
Chrome has clearly spent a lot of time in Tokyo, though Tsuna can’t imagine when or why, and she refuses to tell him. She effortlessly navigated her way here, and now she looks…not like she belongs, exactly. She never looks like she belongs anywhere. But she’s comfortably not-quite-present, as usual. As if she can only be seen out of the corner of the eye; as if she’s never inhabiting the same space as other people. She would make an amazing ninja.
Tsuna knows he’s meant to be eavesdropping, but he’s actually spent most of the evening trying to copy Chrome’s don’t-notice-me aura. He can’t get it right. It’s more than just posture, but she doesn’t seem to be using mist, so what is it? State of mind?
“There,” she whispers.
Nakamura is loudly complaining about poor business, useless underlings, and the cold welcome in a little pisshole of a town called Namimori.
Nice to have confirmation. It seems shockingly blatant, but then…Nakamura could be talking about any kind of business. He could be completely legitimate. After all, he has all of his fingers, no visible tattoos, and he’s wearing a suit. A real latter-day, keizai yakuza. The kind that makes the old gambler’s generation weep for the state of modern criminals.
“What do you think, Boss?”
“Heights,” Tsuna says. He thought about this on the train, in between quiet arguments with Chrome. It should work whether Nakamura has a specific phobia or not. Everyone has a little bit of a problem with heights. Especially unexpected heights.
“Okay,” Chrome whispers, staring intently at Nakamura.
Who leaps to his feet, knocking his chair over, and starts screaming hysterically.
“Edge of a cliff,” Chrome informs Tsuna, “that’s crumbling away.”
Tsuna shudders. Yeah. Everybody has enough of a problem with heights for that illusion to bother them. And most people have no defense against this kind of attack.
So there’s a man backing across the room screaming, smacking people violently out of his way in a panic. This isn’t Kabukicho or even Ikebukuro; someone’s bound to call the police soon. It should make their day when they see who they’re picking up for public disturbance. Once they take him in, they’ll find enough on him to hold him for months, if not years. By that time, with luck, he’ll have forgotten all about Namimori.
If he hasn’t, well. They’ll have to do this again. Chrome’s way next time.
In the midst of the commotion, Tsuna and Chrome disappear-from sight, at least. They have to stick around long enough to make sure Nakamura actually gets arrested. Otherwise, Hibari will maim them.
* * *
Twenty-Two
Sophie: You will not be afraid of all those rough men?
Clarissa: No. As far as I have seen, apart from mere brute strength they are no more formidable than we are. Less so, indeed, since most have that dog-does-not-bite-bitch rule deeply engrained, while nothing of that kind applies to us. -Patrick O’Brian
She says, “Tsu-kun! I have good news.”
She’s speaking in a curiously soft voice. Despite her claims of good news, this is not a good sign. “…I’m glad to hear it.”
“No one’s infiltrated the Chiavarone family after all. Romario-san and I are sure of it. So we can stop worrying about that.”
“That’s a relief.” It is a relief, though it would be more of a relief if Kyoko weren’t whispering.
“Um, I also have some bad news.”
Here it comes. “Oh?”
“Well…someone has infiltrated the Tomaso family.”
Oh. Shit. “Kyoko, you were staying with the Tomaso family.”
“Yes, I know. The infiltrator is calling himself Nunzio, he may be from the Nuvoletta clan. He’s, oh, slightly taller than Gokudera-kun, dark brown hair, dark brown eyes, a diagonal scar through his left eyebrow. Dresses badly, likes pea-green. Please have Bianchi-san and Fuuta-kun look into it.”
“Kyoko, where are you right now?”
“Did you write that down, Tsu-kun?”
“I’ll write it in a second-”
“Write it down right now. All of it!”
Tsuna dutifully writes, trying to remember details through the static of panicked screaming in his head. “Okay. It’s written. Where are you?”
“Make sure to tell Giannini these earring headset things are really useful. Nobody even noticed I had them. And tell Haru I’m fine. And don’t tell my brother anything.”
“Kyoko-”
“Nunzio panicked. He thought I’d seen through him before I actually had, and, well. At least he hasn’t gone after anyone but me. Tsu-kun, I let that creep sneak right up to me, and I didn’t notice. Hibari-san’s going to make such an herbivore face when he hears about this. And then he’s going to hit me in the face.”
Tsuna thinks it’s a little premature for Kyoko to be worrying about Hibari. “Where-”
“Don’t scream, Tsu-kun, they’ll hear you. Gosh, this is so embarrassing. I’m tied up in a…shed? I think? It’s on Tomaso property, which tells you how desperate the man is. I mean, he doesn’t dare kill me and make the Vongola angry, but what does he think he’s going to do with me? By which I mean, he hasn’t done anything to me, Tsu-kun. Calm down. Anyway, from what I can tell, it’s only about two hundred meters south of the main house, in that little woodsy area. You know it?”
“I know it. I’m on a plane.”
“Tsu-kun! Just call Dino-san!”
“I am calling Dino, and then I’m getting on a plane.”
“I knew you would overreact. Next time I want a headset with more than one number programmed in!”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Kyoko.”
She gives an annoyed sigh and cuts the connection, and despite everything, Tsuna smiles. Only Kyoko would hang up on her one hope of rescue.
Actually…no, that’s not true. Probably half the people Tsuna knows would hang up on their one hope of rescue. That’s just the company he keeps.
He tucks the phone between shoulder and ear, punches Dino’s number in with one hand, and pulls his gloves out of their drawer with the other.
He’ll have to talk to Haru next. He wonders if he should tell her that her lover is fine, as instructed, or if he should, more honestly, tell her that her lover’s been abducted and imprisoned in a shed.
Honesty is probably the best policy, since she’ll see right through him either way.
He plans to run away to the airport before he encounters Ryouhei. Or Kurokawa, for that matter.
* * *
Reborn has decided that Tsuna needs to learn about Italian tax law, presumably so that he can help Haru evade it more successfully. Tsuna wasn’t under the impression that Haru needed any help in that department, actually.
He doesn’t have the strength to argue about it, though. Sure, tax law. Why not?
People wander through his office all day as a general rule. Today he’s stopped everyone who’s spent time living in Italy and asked them what they know about taxes. They’re strangely expert. In fact, if he’s learned anything today, it’s that tax evasion is the national sport of Italy, possibly beating out soccer.
And, okay, Japan is pretty big on tax evasion, too. But the Japanese don’t do it with the same gleeful, damn-the-man aura as the Italians.
After a couple of hours of legal reading interspersed with happy anecdotes about clever tax fraud, Tsuna has had about as much as he can take. He is now flat on his back on the floor under his desk with the tax book open across his face.
Fuuta (who was the last straw, with his truly upsetting statistics), is sprawled on his belly at ninety degrees to Tsuna, his ranking book open between them. Fuuta’s growing up very dignified, but he’s not so dignified yet that he won’t lie on the floor as long as his boss does it first. He’s also sympathetic, being thoroughly familiar with the problem of too much information.
“So who’s the best at making pizza?” Tsuna asks, gazing up at the comforting, tax-book-induced darkness.
“Romario’s our highest,” Fuuta informs him after a couple of minutes of flipping through pages. “Number five. And then Dino-nii! You wouldn’t think it, would you? Maybe Romario taught him. And then Bianchi. I wonder if that’s counting her poison ones.”
“Hm.” The ranking book logic is a little upsetting sometimes. “How about ping-pong? Who’s best at ping-pong?”
“Kusakabe. And then the entire Shimon family after that. That’s weird.”
Tsuna doesn’t know whether it’s weird or not, but he does plan to make fun of Enma for it the next time he sees him. He defies even Enma to make a conversation about ping-pong sad and awkward.
“Who can hold their breath the longest?”
“Um…no one we know. Too bad; you’d think Squalo-san for sure.”
“Tsu-kun,” says Kyoko, who apparently snuck into the room while Tsuna was concentrating on the serious business of ping-pong. “If you’re going to wallow around on the floor like that, you’d better take off your jacket before Haru sees you. You know how she feels about that jacket.”
Tsuna reflects, as he does every time he hears Kyoko’s voice, sees her, or even hears about her, that it is so, so good to have her safely home. As opposed to locked in a shed somewhere.
But she wants him to move. He considers moving. It seems like a lot of trouble. On the other hand, the wrath of Haru is also a lot of trouble. His life is full of difficult decisions.
“Oh my God, Vongola.” Ah, Lambo. Lambo, who, at the ripe old age of thirteen, is only slightly less uptight than Haru on the subject of clothes. “How could you?”
Fuuta laughs, and Tsuna sits up with a sigh, letting the tax book fall into his lap. He struggles out of the jacket and hands it to Kyoko, who hands it to Lambo, who reverently makes off with it, probably on a quest for a nice, fat hanger and a climate-controlled closet.
“You’d better be doing homework after this!” Fuuta shouts after him.
“Whateverrrr,” Lambo calls back. Fuuta mutters unhappily to himself. He’s a far more conscientious guardian than Tsuna. Or at least, he is when it comes to schoolwork.
Tsuna wonders why Lambo came to his office in the first place. Presumably it wasn’t to steal Tsuna’s clothes.
…One would hope. He wouldn’t really pawn that jacket, would he? Surely I-Pin wouldn’t let him.
“Remember that the Varia will be here in half an hour,” Kyoko says, one eyebrow raised in amused disapproval.
Tsuna wonders how much trouble he’s actually in, given that expression. He figures not much, really, and collapses back onto the floor, resettling the book across his face. “Fuuta,” he says, “remind me in fifteen minutes.”
“Okay, Tsuna-nii.”
Kyoko sighs and stands, but the sigh suggests repressed laughter, so there’s nothing to worry about. Except for the Varia, of course. They’re a worry.
But not for another fifteen minutes.
Tsuna waits until Kyoko closes the door behind her. “Happiest romantic relationship,” he asks, out of…he’s not sure. Not bitterness, he thinks. Wistfulness, maybe.
After a long pause, during which Tsuna can feel himself being severely judged by a teenager, the pages start to flip.
“Sawada Iemitsu and Sawada Nana,” Fuuta announces. “They get ranked together whether they’re both in the mafia or not.”
“You’re making that up,” Tsuna says, stunned.
“Tsuna-nii! I never make up rankings!”
“But that’s-he’s never home, how…?”
“How should I know?”
“…Right.” When he puts it like that, how should Tsuna know?
“We know number two, too. Gokudera-nii and Yamamoto-nii.”
Tsuna pushes the tax book away and crawls to Fuuta’s side to get a better look at this crazy, lying list. And there they are. One and two, as advertised.
“It was raining the day you did this ranking,” Tsuna insists. “Wasn’t it?”
“It was not!”
Ryouhei and Hana, Tsuna notes in a daze, are number eight. Suzuki Adelheid and Katou Julie are number ten. He’d had no idea they were even together. Fuuta’s only got the list down to ten, but Tsuna would bet anything that Kyoko and Haru are, like, eleven or twelve or something.
It’s not his imagination; he really is surrounded by ridiculously happy couples.
“They fight all the time, don’t they?” Fuuta asks in a wary, confused tone. It takes Tsuna a second to catch up and realize he’s still talking about Yamamoto and Gokudera.
“Maybe fighting makes them happy?” Tsuna volunteers, though he’s not much less at sea, himself.
“Makes sense for Gokudera-nii,” Fuuta allows. “But not for…oh, Yamamoto-nii! We were just wondering what’s wrong with you.”
Tsuna fervently hopes that Yamamoto came in very recently. At the moment, he’s leaning against the desk gazing down at them, lips quirked in a tiny, uninterpretable smile. At Fuuta’s comment, his eyebrows climb. Tsuna smiles back desperately, shoving the incriminating book closed, and wills Yamamoto to understand that Tsuna is not responsible for anything Fuuta says.
Maybe it works, because Yamamoto’s only remark is, “The Varia, Tsuna.”
“I know. I was going to stand up in fifteen-”
“Takeshi, what the hell are you doing? We’re supposed to be looking for the Tenth and you’re just-oh.” As he peers past Yamamoto’s shoulder, Gokudera’s voice lowers from enraged to hesitant. “Um, Tenth? What are you-are you…um. Are you okay?”
Gokudera is absently holding on to Yamamoto’s arm, and Yamamoto has leaned slightly, unconsciously back against him.
Tsuna turns to meet Fuuta’s eyes. Fuuta giggles.
* * *
Twenty-Three
“It was hard to tell, sometimes, if m’lord’s style was the result of single-minded dedication to duty, habits of overweening Vor privilege, or simple insanity.” -Lois McMaster Bujold
He says, “What are you doing here?”
It’s very Hibari of him to have waited an entire week to ask.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Tsuna murmurs, looking out at the garden, Hibird perched comfortably on his head. Hibari’s garden is a work of art, and would probably be featured in magazines if he would ever under any circumstances allow strangers to see it. “I died this year, so I thought I’d visit everyone.”
“This time you’re still alive,” Hibari offers. Tsuna turns in shock. He hadn’t been expecting a response at all, let alone a borderline friendly one. “You must have done something right, despite all indications to the contrary.”
Tsuna smiles uncertainly. Fortunately, Hibird quickly refocuses his attention by digging unhappy claws into his scalp. He doesn’t approve when Tsuna moves quickly; apparently that’s unsettling for small birds. “The year isn’t over yet.”
Hibari gives him a disgusted glare. “You died in early summer,” he says, lapsing into his usual bored frustration. Tsuna’s almost relieved. “It’s fall. You don’t remember the flowers in your own coffin?”
No, actually. But it’s interesting that Hibari does, considering Tsuna never knew he’d seen the coffin. It’s also interesting that that’s how Hibari chose to gauge the season. “They might have been hothouse flowers.”
“I wouldn’t let them-” Hibari cuts himself off and glowers at the garden.
Hibari wouldn’t let them bury Tsuna with hothouse flowers. This must be another of his inexplicable and yet immutable laws of behavior. Tsuna makes a note of it.
“Well,” he suggests, “I wasn’t really dead. Maybe you would have let them, since I was faking it.”
“No,” Hibari snaps irritably. “If you let them put you in a coffin, you were as good as dead.”
True. The reality and technicalities of survival don’t always match up. Would Tsuna lie to his family-to Kyoko, to Yamamoto, to Gokudera-would he let them go through the pain of his death if he didn’t think it was inevitable? Of course not.
“You’re right.” He can hardly imagine being that desperate.
“Real flowers,” Hibari says.
“…Thank you.”
Hibari scowls, of course. “No.”
“No?”
“I don’t want your gratitude. It’s what I owe. You’ve never gotten in my way. You’ve never stopped me from doing what I need to do.”
“I don’t think I could have,” Tsuna points out, bemused.
Hibari disregards this with an impatient (but graceful, always graceful) wave of the hand. “You never tried.”
“And so in return I get…flowers?”
“You get to be real.”
“Oh.”
This isn’t the first Hibari Philosophy lecture Tsuna’s been privileged to, but they don’t get any less odd with the years. Luckily, Hibari’s not looking for understanding. He’s only looking for obedience.
Hibari has never lost a man to anything other than death, and Tsuna knows their devotion puzzles people, knows it puzzles Gokudera most of all. That’s because stability isn’t what Gokudera wants. He wants acceptance, and Hibari doesn’t believe in that. That’s not his charm.
No, Hibari, for all that he claims to be a cloud, is as unchanging as rock. His rules may not make sense from the outside, but they are his rules, and they’re fixed. Once you’ve learned them, you know-know-that they won’t change. And if you obey the rules, Hibari will take responsibility for you, reliable as sunrise. That’s something a person can hold on to, something sure and real.
Hibari’s men must have wanted something to be sure of. And now they’ve found it. Tsuna glances at Kusakabe, who’s obviously completely at peace-a peace no less beautiful for being artificially made. Tsuna can’t deny the appeal of it. The only mystery here is how Hibari can stand that much pressure. How he doesn’t even seem to notice it.
Hibari’s rules, Hibari’s responsibility. Not Tsuna’s rules or Tsuna’s responsibility. There’s peace in that, yes. And freedom.
But he can’t stay. Visits to Hibari’s created world are just visits. For him.
He stands and thanks Hibari and Kusakabe for the tea. Hibird cheeps and flutters back to his usual perch on Hibari’s shoulder, while Kusakabe gives Tsuna a pitying look. Kusakabe lives here all the time, and can only imagine what it must feel like to leave.
Hibari ignores Tsuna, annoyed now that he’s realized they’re not fighting today. Of course, they fought yesterday, and all of the three days before that. Tsuna feels he’s done his duty by his Cloud Guardian. Besides, Gokudera will be upset if he comes home with any more bruises than he already has.
Tsuna smiles, nods at everyone, and leaves the room. He makes his way back home, taking a little of Hibari’s peace along with him.
* * *
“So,” Yamamoto says, pouncing as soon as Tsuna steps into the base. He’s smiling, and yet managing to give the impression of strong disapproval. “Where have you been?”
“…Been?” Tsuna asks.
“Yes, Tsuna-san,” Haru says, sneaking up on the other side. He’s being double-teamed by Yamamoto and Haru. How weird. “Where have you been? For the past five days?”
“Um, well…”
“I see you’re covered in bruises,” Haru goes on, while Yamamoto stands close, blocking Tsuna’s escape routes. “And bandages. And-”
“It’s nothing serious! It’s-”
“You worried Hayato,” Yamamoto points out.
“Oh, but I emailed him a-”
“You didn’t tell him where you were going, just how long you’d be gone,” Haru announces, which means Gokudera was so worried he showed Haru the email. Tsuna’s in big trouble. “You were with Hibari-san again, weren’t you? Why can’t you just say that?”
Tsuna sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “I’m sorry.”
This changes the ominous feel of Yamamoto disapproval not at all, and it drives Haru to outright frown. “But you’ll do it again.”
“You know how Hibari is. There’s a lot of work that only he can do, and if anyone else showed up while I was-”
“Don’t blame Hibari,” Yamamoto cuts in. “We’re not fifteen; he doesn’t attack people for invading his space anymore. Well, he doesn’t attack us for invading his space. What’s the real reason?”
“I’m not saying he’d attack, but he works best if-”
“Why, Tsuna?” Yamamoto demands. Unyielding in a way he so rarely is.
Tsuna drops his head to study the carpet pattern. It’s an interesting carpet. Geometrical. Haru and Gokudera picked it out together in one of their rare fits of cooperation. “I need,” Tsuna says, “to know that you’d be all right. If I were gone.”
Silence. The longer he studies the carpet, the more Tsuna understands what Gokudera saw in it. It’s horribly complicated-a tangle of blues, greens, and reds over a black background-but there’s a nice, clean, repetitive logic to it. Interesting that it would appeal to Haru, too.
An arm drapes itself around his shoulders, steady and comforting. “Well, we can’t tell Hayato that,” Yamamoto says lightly, any sign of disapproval gone as if it had never been.
“I know.”
“I wish you’d worry less, Tsuna.”
“Me too.”
“Let’s feed you.” This is becoming Yamamoto’s response to any crisis. Eat something. He’s totally turning into his dad.
“Okay,” Tsuna agrees, quietly happy.
“Tsuna-san,” Haru sighs, shaking her head. “Someday I’m just going to lock you in a cage in my office for my own peace of mind.”
“Um. I…look forward to it?” Tsuna tries.
Yamamoto laughs at him.
* * *
Twenty-Four
“His voice sounded calm, like the voice of a man who knows that in real life things always turn out badly and there’s no point getting worked up about it.” -Roberto Bolaño
He says, “You have a long way to go,” and Tsuna laughs.
“Yes, Reborn,” he says. “I know.”
Reborn gives him a fishy look. He’s just worked out exactly what Tsuna, Haru, and Shouichi have been up to during the past five years when he thought they were slacking off. He’s just realized how many Vongola businesses are now completely legitimate. In another five years, the Vongola won’t be so much a mafia family as a slightly dubious privately held company with a certain tendency toward vigilantism.
Reborn doesn’t like it. Tsuna understands that-he even understands why-but it’s not going to stop him. And he knows that Reborn knows that.
They know each other far too well; that’s what’s making this conversation so strange. Given the choice between obligation and personal conviction, Reborn has always followed his obligations, while Tsuna has always followed his convictions.
Tsuna is following his convictions now, and Reborn is obliged to disapprove…but he doesn’t really disapprove. The two of them may have the same obligations, but they also have the same convictions. Reborn is, Tsuna suspects, reluctantly proud. And that irritates him, as does the fact that Tsuna knows about it.
It’s all very complicated, or maybe just ridiculous.
“This doesn’t mean the other families will leave you alone,” Reborn reminds him sternly.
“I know,” Tsuna agrees.
“It won’t make the Vongola safer.”
“It won’t make us less safe, either.”
“You’re dragging Dino into this with you, aren’t you?”
“I wouldn’t say dragging…”
“I leave you alone for a few months, and look what you do.”
“I stop breaking the law?”
Reborn scowls savagely and hefts a really sturdy-looking tire iron that appeared from nowhere.
“Don’t ever,” Reborn says, “take this lightly.”
This, Tsuna thinks, cringing, is really gonna hurt.
He’s not backing down, though. Reborn doesn’t want him to, anyway.
* * *
Today is Tsuna’s twenty-fifth birthday, and the Vongola are having one hell of a party.
The party’s not really about Tsuna, of course. It’s about making it to eleven years later; it’s about living longer than any of them honestly thought they would. Tsuna understands that in detail.
Still, on some childish, petty, never-admit-it-to-anyone level, he enjoys the fact that his birthday is now a bigger deal than Reborn’s. Or at any rate, he finds it really, really funny.
It’s been an oddly peaceful year, but everyone’s acting the way they do after a fight-worse, even. You’ve survived, that’s the feeling. You’ve survived, so live. Anything goes.
Anything goes. Tsuna makes his periodic sweep of the room, and sees that Yamamoto has Gokudera in a headlock, and Gokudera is laughing; he keeps laughing even when Yamamoto releases him, then pulls him close for a kiss. Behavior that normally wouldn’t be allowed in public. But then, this isn’t public, it’s family.
Just family. Bianchi isn’t wearing anything on her face, but Gokudera looks right at her and smiles. Dino has to steer her away before Gokudera sees her burst into tears. They go to sit beside Fuuta, who nods to them before turning amused eyes back to Kyoko and Haru.
Kyoko and Haru are plastered the fun way. They’re trying to have a conversation, but keep dissolving into hysterical laughter every few words.
Kusakabe and Romario are in a corner getting systematically drunk-on sake, since they’re in Japan. They go for wine when they’re in Italy. Tsuna means to take them to Russia someday and see if they’ll switch to vodka.
Chrome has somehow managed to fall asleep in the midst of the chaos, curled up on the couch, leaning against Hibari. Hibari scowls at her, but turns so that she fits against him more comfortably, and lets her sleep. Mukuro is lurking behind them and watching with an ambiguous smile; he doesn’t interfere.
Tsuna tries not to worry about the many troubling directions that might go in the future. It hasn’t crashed and burned yet. It may turn out all right. Maybe.
Why is it, he wonders, that whenever he wants to know where Chrome is, the answer is invariably, “Beside the most dangerous man in the room”?
As Tsuna watches and frets, Fran drifts over to Mukuro and starts talking in that aimless, reflective, absently abusive way of his. He requires no response. For the most part, he ignores any response. Still, he’s pretty effortlessly pulled Mukuro’s attention away from Chrome and Hibari, and Tsuna is going to buy him something really nice on the next available holiday.
Thanks to Fran, Tsuna feels comfortable turning away from that corner and inspecting the rest of the room. For better or worse.
Ryouhei is standing on a table, holding forth about something that probably wouldn’t have made sense even if he were sober, which he most assuredly isn’t. Hana’s idly throwing popcorn at him, aiming for his mouth. Colonello and Lal are sitting together across from Hana, happily watching the show. They both have a deep appreciation for the absurd, and besides, Colonello adores Ryouhei. Lal is catching the pieces of popcorn that come her way and throwing them back to Hana.
Lambo and I-Pin are on the floor with Spanner, Shouichi, and Giannini, and somehow the five of them have managed to make a pickle glow like a light bulb. Tsuna prays that’s as far as they plan to go; he prays this evening won’t end in blackouts or explosions like the last…three times? Was it three?
Oh God. He’s actually lost count.
At least Gokudera isn’t on the floor with them this time. That probably reduces the chance of explosions.
Thoughts of explosions remind Tsuna that he hasn’t seen any Varia for an hour or so. Where are they? What are they doing? He doesn’t expect them to be up to anything too awful, but the not knowing is scary.
He leans back, giving up on looking around the room as a stress-inducing lost cause, and turns to Reborn instead. Reborn, who’s been keeping Tsuna company watching over the family they made, unusually quiet. He doesn’t seem unhappy, though. Just thoughtful.
The clock strikes midnight, and Tsuna’s birthday is officially over, though the party shows no signs of winding down. Only CEDEF has gone home, so far. At some point, Tsuna thinks, someone is going to have to coax Ryouhei off of that table. He hopes it won’t have to be him.
“Congratulations, loser Tsuna” Reborn says abruptly, turning to him and raising his glass. “You’ve outlived yourself.”
Tsuna laughs. “Thanks. So have you.”
“Hm. Are you proud of yourself?”
“No,” Tsuna answers, surprised. Reborn stares at him. “I mean, I didn’t-I wouldn’t be alive if not for them.” He gestures to the room. To the people who are the reason he lives, the people who own him. “I’m proud of them.” That doesn’t begin to cover it. “And…if it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have met them at all.”
“Would you have preferred that?” Reborn asks, gazing into the depths of his wine glass.
Reborn is in a very weird mood. In anyone else, Tsuna might call it…uncertainty. Or regret.
It’s interesting that Byakuran once asked him almost the same thing. Except then, the question was, “Do you regret the last few months?” and now it’s more, “Do you regret your entire life?”
Tsuna can’t imagine existing without these people. He doesn’t want to imagine it. And yes, he’d give a lot to have a life less defined by violence and death, but does he think he could have one without the other? Didn’t everything add up to this?
And doesn’t he still have time to fix what he doesn’t like?
He tells Reborn, “Ask me again in ten years,” and clinks their glasses together.
* * *
“You end up becoming what you see in the eyes of those you love.” -Carlos Ruiz Zafón
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