Roman Holiday (Mukuro, Tsuna)

[umarekawareru]

Title: Roman Holiday
Author: umarekawareru
Fandom: Katekyo Hitman Reborn!
Rating: PG
Pairing: Mukuro/Tsuna, sort of, and implied Yamamoto/Gokudera.
Wordcount: 5,036
Genre: Humour.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, I just play ♥
Summary: Mukuro suggests to take Tsuna to Rome to practice his Italian. Reborn thinks it's a wonderful idea. Gokudera disagrees, with fervor.
Author’s Notes: This was originally written for khrminibang, though I forgot about the deadline completely, so it wasn't posted in the main minibang site. However, you can see the hilarious art eigwayne drew for it here.

The good thing about Namimori Base, Mukuro thought to himself as he sat at the kitchen table, was that no matter how long he hung around, he would always find some way to entertain himself. Spending almost a decade locked up in an underground cell in a high-security prison in the middle of nowhere, he decided, really taught one to value the small things.

"Please reconsider, Tenth!" came Gokudera's panicked voice. His footsteps echoed in the hallway just outside the kitchen. "That guy is not to be trusted!"

Mukuro checked the clock above the door just as it opened; six a.m. sharp. At the moment, only Yamamoto and Miura Haru were up and about, although if Gokudera kept up that racket, he was sure to wake up everyone from there to Shanghai. Personally, Mukuro was rather interested in the reaction of one Hibari Kyoya; perhaps he'd ask Yamamoto to record it and mail it to his cell phone. Plane rides were long and arduous things; he'd need something to keep himself entertained.

"Good morning, everyone," Tsuna greeted upon entering the room, looking much too frazzled for the early hours of the morning. "Haru, can you pour me a cup of coffee? Thanks."

"Yo," Yamamoto replied with a grin. "You don't look that well, Tsuna."

Tsuna gave an all-suffering sigh and ran a hand through his hair.

"It's all his fault, you know," Gokudera frowned, glaring at Mukuro. "He, he, he only wants to be alone with the Tenth so he can take him down. A trip to Italy! I bet he'll push the Tenth in front of a car or something, the bastard. I won't allow this!"

Tsuna took the cup Haru was handing him. "Thanks. Also, we've discussed this before," he continued, with the tone of voice of one who has repeated the same thing way too many times over a short period of time. "If I'm going to be the next boss, I need to at least know something about Italy, don't I? And, well, Mukuro offered. And then Reborn agreed," Tsuna added, as if that settled everything, which it kind of did.

"There's a chance Reborn-san didn't mean it quite like that," Gokudera proposed hopefully.

Mukuro picked up that day's newspaper from the table and flicked through it, not because he was interested, but rather because he guessed it was the kind of thing normal, innocent people did over breakfast. According to the headlines, the hideout of a small Famiglia in Naples had been destroyed, and a couple more companies had bitten the dust in Wall Street. Gokudera kept raging. Good times.

"How do you like your coffee, Mukuro-san?" Haru-san asked, placing a cup in front of him with a polite smile. She was wearing a polka-dotted apron, he saw; quite charming, really.

"Ah, thank you. I'll have it black," he told her, smiling back. "Just like my soul."

She giggled and poured the coffee. Mukuro dropped her a wink and pretended to ignore Gokudera's outraged spluttering, although really, the urge to point and laugh like an immature child was getting stronger by the minute. He closed the paper and tossed it to Yamamoto, who caught it and opened it on the table in front of him.

"That was a cool answer," said Yamamoto, turning the page with a laugh.

"Are you siding with him now?" Gokudera asked, pointing accusingly at him with the hand he wasn't using to grip Tsuna's arm hard enough to stop his bloodstream. "It's Italy, Yamamoto! Italy!"

"Oh, come on," Yamamoto said good-naturedly, waving his hand as if to shake off a particularly persistent fly. "Mukuro's been to Italy before. It'll be just fine, Gokudera. Also, I think Tsuna's earned a vacation, don't you think?"

Mukuro nodded sagely. "Yes, yes," he echoed, smiling sweetly. "We'll be just fine, Gokudera-kun."

"It's not you I'm worried about!" Gokudera replied, reaching the stage of panic where hyperventilation becomes a likely threat. "If you randomly stab the Tenth with a fork in a restaurant, we'll never make it there in time! It's Italy, and do you even know where Italy is, Yamamoto?"

"You're just being rude now, Gokudera-san," Miura-san intervened, putting her hands on her hips angrily. Really, she was an outstanding woman. "Do you honestly believe Tsuna-san is so weak he needs to be protected by you at all times? Just let him go, it's fine already!"

Gokudera rounded on her with a glare. "I don't think he's weak! The Tenth is greater than all of us put together could ever hope to be!"

Tsuna laughed awkwardly. "I appreciate it, Hayato," he said, "but it'll be okay, you can stop now."

"It won't be okay!" Gokudera protested, although rather more tamely than he had been doing. "Why are you taking the psychopath with you? I could go instead! I'm Italian!"

"We can go together next time," Tsuna replied with a grimace, "but actually, I meant the arm. I've stopped feeling my fingers."

"Please take care," Gokudera repeated for the umpteenth time as their bags were being loaded onto the limo. "If something's wrong, call me any time, doesn't matter what time it is. I'll keep in contact."

Tsuna sighed, but he was actually smiling at the edges. "It'll be just fine, Gokudera-kun," he said, patting his guardian's shoulder awkwardly. "It's only a week, anyway. It'll be over before we know it."

"And you," Gokudera continued, after an emotional pause. "If you touch a hair on the Tenth's head, I swear I'll kill you."

Mukuro rolled his eyes. "Heard that all before," he shrugged, and grabbed Tsuna's hand in a totally casual way that caused the Tenth boss' other right hand to let out an unindignified (and, in Mukuro's opinion, rather girly) squeak. It wasn't that he'd suddenly decided to give up his vendetta and be all chummy-chummy with the head honcho of one of the most important mafia Families in the world, really. It was just that he found Gokudera Hayato's indignant face terribly amusing.

"So, darling," he announced dramatically, watching Gokudera turn an interesting shade of tomato red. "Shall we get going?"

The flight to Fiumicino Airport was long and largely uneventful. Tsuna had refused to take the Family's private jet, saying it was much too luxorious, and Gokudera had refused to book economic class tickets, saying the Tenth deserved better treatment than the plebs, so they travelled in first-class. The air hostesses were taller and leggier in that part of the plane, and when lunchtime came around they were handed real cutlery, no cheap plastic, but Mukuro couldn't honestly call it 'better'. Unable to sleep, he spent the majority of the flight looking out of the window, half-hoping to see a laser-eyed Gokudera walking on the plane wing towards them. Alas, nothing happened.

In the seat next to him, Tsuna snored contentedly.

Dear Tenth,

How are you enjoying Rome? I hope the weather is good, and that the suite has a nice view. I know you're always careful, and I certainly don't think you can't defend yourself, but please sleep with an eye open for Mukuro, just in case. I packed my favourite revolver in your suitcase, so you can use that. They shouldn't give you any trouble at customs; Reborn-san taught me a sure-fire way to conceal it from the metal detectors.

Yours sincerely,
Gokudera Hayato

Gokudera hit send almost on autopilot, glaring at the server logo in an attempt to make it work faster. "Damn," he muttered to himself, his mind already picturing all the different and horrible ways Mukuro could be torturing the Tenth at that very instant just because the internet connection had chosen that exact day to go wonky on him.

There was a knock at the door, but Gokudera ignored it. He had more important things to do.

Whoever it was knocked again. What a pain.

"It's Yamamoto!"

Of course.

"I'm busy right now," Gokudera shouted, rolling his eyes. Perhaps uninstalling the modem and then installing it again would help. "Go play baseball or whatever it is you do in your free time."

Yamamoto laughed. "Whatever, I'm going in," he said, with a lot more cheer than the situation called for.

Gokudera humphed and decided to reboot the thing. "I told you I was busy," he told Yamamoto when the footsteps stopped right beside his chair. Unfortunately, he suspected Yamamoto had no intention of leaving until he got whatever it was he wanted, so Gokudera decided to just get it over with as soon as possible so he could go back to saving the Tenth's life. "What do you want, anyway?"

"You haven't had lunch yet, right?" Yamamoto asked. "Why don't we go grab something to eat? You need to get out of here, you'll turn into an old wrinkled hermit before you know it," he joked.

Gokudera didn't laugh. "It's clinically possible to go weeks without eating," he said. "This is more important."

"Well then, how about the kitchen? That's close enough, right? We'll be back in no time," Yamamoto insisted. "What are you doing, anyway?"

Gokudera rolled his eyes and turned the screen slightly so he could see it. "Trying to contact the Tenth to make sure he's all right," he explained, letting out a stream of expletives when the server took five seconds longer than strictly necessary to send his e-mail. "Which is what you should be doing, you baseball freak."

Yamamoto leaned down to peer at the screen, and he whistled in disbelief. "Ninety-seven e-mails in your outbox?! Seriously?" He stared at the screen in silence for a few more seconds, opening and closing his mouth like some retarded goldfish.

"What?" Gokudera sent a glare at the screen, intending for it to bounce off the screen and at Yamamoto. It was a lot more practical that way.

"You're getting out of here and going for something to eat right now," Yamamoto said seriously, grabbing Gokudera's arm and hauling him away from the computer with such strength that Gokudera found it impossible to break free of his grip, though not for lack of trying.

"Let me go, you fucking idiot!" he demanded, outraged. "I have to save the Tenth!"

"Tsuna's doing just fine, Gokudera," Yamamoto snapped. Was he lecturing Gokudera? Who did he think he was, anyway? "It's you who isn't thinking clearly."

"Hmpf!" Gokudera protested, because he refused to say something girly like let go, you're hurting me. Yamamoto apparently got the drift, surprisingly, because he released Gokudera's arm almost instantly. "While we're here thinking, who knows what Mukuro will be planning! I should get on the next plane to Rome. If I leave now --"

"Or," Yamamoto suggested helpfully, "you could call, if you're so worried. Now let's go eat something, please."

Gokudera wasn't listening, though. He was too busy searching his pockets for his cell phone.

"Why, Gokudera-kun," said Mukuro. The line was bad, but the glee in his voice was impossible to miss. "Good morning to you. How are you doing?"

"Pack your stuff, you psychotic bastard," Gokudera replied venomously, "because next time I see you, I'm sending you back to hell."

"And they say 'distance makes the heart grow fonder'," Mukuro sighed dramatically. Clearly mocking. "What can I do for you today?"

"Well, let's see, how about you hand the Tenth the fucking phone so I can talk to him?" Gokudera growled. "Four fucking hours you've had me on hold! Four! What exactly is your problem? Wait, ignore that, just -- why do you even have the Tenth's cell?"

"What I do wonder, though," Mukuro began, completely ignoring his question, "is where you learnt to type that fast. Almost a hundred e-mails in a day! I am genuinely impressed, you know, I have never --"

"Let me talk to the Tenth," Gokudera interrupted, death in his voice. "Now, you vicious pineapple freak."

Mukuro took it in stride. "Actually, I can't," he replied cheerfully, "because he's in the shower."

Gokudera did a double-take at that. "Not dead, I hope."

"Never have I seen a better specimen of good health," Mukuro confirmed, and then continued in a slightly suggestive and deliberately annoying tone, "but you know, there's so many things to do here in Rome, you'd be surprised."

Gokudera spluttered indignantly.

"You'd better be keeping your hands to yourself, Mukuro," he said after a while, when he'd calmed down enough to form a coherent sentence. "The Tenth is too great to doubt other people, but I'm on to you. I'll call again." Then, as an afterthought, "oh, and wish the Tenth goodnight from me."

"Who was that?" asked Tsuna from where he was sitting, on the bed a few metres away from Mukuro.

"Your mother," Mukuro answered casually, sitting down as well. He switched on the TV, and a young Audrey Hepburn appeared on the screen.

Tsuna gave him a strange look. "I thought she was on a cruise with Dad," he said to himself, and then shook his head, apparently deciding he'd rather not ask Mukuro to elaborate. "Whatever. Can we please just -- sit down to watch this film like we're normal people?"

The cell phone started vibrating in Mukuro's hand -- Gokudera Hayato, said the LCD screen. Mukuro hung up and turned it off. "Sure," he replied with a smile.

"Damn," Gokudera swore, glaring at the screen of his cell phone. Personally, he didn't have anything against Vivaldi's Spring, but when played incessantly on loop for three hours it could induce painful migraines. Also, killing urges. "Fucking sociopath," he muttered under his breath, hanging up and dialling again. "He's so dead."

At least this time he got a dialling tone; small mercies.

"The number you have dialed is currently unavailable. Please try again later or leave a me--"

Then again, perhaps not.

"Fuck!" Gokudera winced and cradled his foot; okay, so perhaps kicking the wall hadn't been the best idea he'd ever had. Damn, but it hurt.

Just as he was lamenting his fate, there was a knock at the door. "May I bother you for a second, Gokudera-san?" came the polite voice. "This is Kusakabe. Kyo-san would like to have a word with you, if that's quite all right."

Gokudera frowned, bewildered. What could Hibari possibly want with him? "I'll be right there," he called, and limped out of the room.

The following day, Gokudera Hayato came to the conclusion that things couldn't possibly go worse. (A fallacious statement, to be sure, but being almost literally chained to a bed in the base's medical unit with two bruised ribs and several broken limbs always did manage to skew one's perspective.) He was calculating his (depressingly low) chances of successfully escaping and flying to Italy to thwart Mukuro's evil plan before it could come to fruition when Shamal walked into the room.

"Looking good, Hayato," he greeted with a casual wave.

Gokudera found him remarkably unamusing. He was tempted to point it out, but then he remembered his windpipe had come very close to seeing the light at the end of the tunnel and decided not to push his luck.

"I heard you got beaten up by Hibari," Shamal continued with the overwhelming honesty of long-time acquaintances. "Didn't expect it to be this bad, though; it's rather impressive."

Shamal didn't beat around the bush, as per his usual standards. Gokudera didn't even want to think about that particular conversation, if it could even be called that; the thought alone hurt. It wasn't his fault that the global economy was going to shit, or that overseas calls were expensive.

"Why are you even here?" Gokudera rasped out with a slight grimace. "I thought you didn't treat men."

"I don't, of course," Shamal replied with the look of spiritual anguish of one surrounded by idiots. "Your sister asked me to come visit you. Can't say no to such a fine lady, Hayato."

Gokudera rolled his eyes at him. "Why am I not surprised," he muttered darkly.

"It's okay," Shamal said in patronising tones. "You'll understand when you're older. By the way, I brought you this," he added, dropping a dog-eared magazine with a picture of a handcuffed and topless woman pouting on the cover.

Gokudera stared at the thing in horror for several seconds. There were a couple of stains of questionable nature on the cover. "Get that thing away from me," he spit out, shrinking away as much as his current condition would allow. "I'd throw this at your head right now, if I had a working arm and wasn't afraid of contracting some sort of veneral disease."

Shamal nodded distractedly, as if he couldn't care less either way (which, Gokudera reflected scornfully, was probably the case). "Yes, well," he said, waving his hand loftily. "I'm off now. Perhaps I'll drop by later. Try to chill a bit, will you? It'll do you some good."

Gokudera grunted.

"Incidentally," Shamal added, turning around just before he crossed the threshold. "Blowing up the base in order to set yourself free is not an option. I don't reckon Hibari would appreciate having to readjust the budget yet again to pay the costs of redecoration."

Gokudera rolled his eyes. "I wasn't planning on blowing up the room," although he couldn't honestly say the thought hadn't crossed his mind at one point. Some habits are difficult to shake off.

"Just a thought," Shamal said in a tone that suggested that he'd known Gokudera for too long not to know that he was a fan of taking the explosive approach to life.

Gokudera frowned affrontedly and looked at the porno mag Shamal had left on the bed, willing it into nonexistence. And then he had a brilliant idea.

"Hey, Shamal!" he called at the top of his lungs. His larynx would resent him for it, but it was not the time to worry about that. "Vongola doesn't pay for your phone bills, right?"

My dearest, dearest Gokudera-kun,

How are you doing over there? Tsunayoshi-kun and I are really enjoying Rome. Yesterday I hotwired a Vespa and we went for a ride, just like Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck in Roman Holiday. It was very romantic~.

I heard you got beaten up pretty bad by Hibari. You don't happen to have pictures, do you?

-- Mukuro

"THE FUCK?!" Gokudera shouted, staring at the postcard in disbelief.

"A Vespa?!" Gokudera asked, outraged and doing his very best not to drop Shamal's phone. If it was broken when he surreptitiously gave it back, Shamal was sure to know something was up. "Not only are you a deranged psychopath with a strange haircut, but you also have horrible taste in bikes! Honestly, if you were going to hotwire a bike, couldn't you have done a bit better than a Vespa?"

"I like Vespas," Mukuro said, almost defensively. "It was the only bike around, anyway."

"Then you should've gone somewhere else and find a better bike!" Gokudera continued to rage. "The Tenth deserves better than a fucking Vespa, for God's sake!"

"Tell me one thing," Mukuro began in ominous tones, "why do you keep calling? I know you have unresolved sexual tension with Sawada, but seriously, it stops being well-meaning concern after the twelfth call. Also, didn't Hibari break your fingers?"

"Like I have to explain myself to you, pineapple!" Gokudera replied, affronted. "Just give the Tenth the phone, will you? My time is too precious to waste it on you."

"You've been doing a pretty good job of that lately, though," Mukuro interjected smoothly. Gokudera swore under his breath. "Anyway, you can't talk to him right now because he's in the shower."

"You're a fucking liar," Gokudera retorted scornfully. "You said that last time I called, and the time before, and the time before that as well."

"Truly, you have awful timing. Believe it or not, he really is in the shower," Mukuro explained matter-of-factly. Then he added casually, "Well, I mean, I could go check if you like, I wouldn't mind th--"

"You stay where you are, freak," Gokudera hissed. "Or better yet, go find yourself a real bike. Like a Harley. Make sure it has lots of flames on it. I'll call again."

"I have no doubt that you will," Mukuro agreed conversationally.

"I won't let you have your way," Gokudera insisted sourly. "The Tenth had better make it back in perfect health, or else."

"Yes, yes," Mukuro rolled his eyes. "Justice will fall upon me. I am aware." There was a thoughtful pause, which admittedly, did not bode well. "You know, if you keep stressing so much over everything, you're going to end up bald before you reach thirty," Mukuro advised with a nod. "I've lived longer than you. I know these things."

There was a weird frustrated half-scream from Gokudera's end, and then the line got cut.

"Who was that?" asked Tsuna, looking up from The Tourist's Guide To Rome.

"Your mother again," Mukuro replied, turning on the TV. A special documentary program about the Hell's Angels was on. "She wanted to make sure you're changing your underwear every day, Tsunayoshi-kun."

Tsuna let out a half-strangled laugh. "Oh god," he said, feigning utmost interest in the pictures of Trajan's Column featured in the guide. "Please stop talking already."

When Gokudera saw Shamal walk into the room in complete silence, he realised he might actually have a problem. Truly, he had done his best, but apparently even plans as brilliant as his were susceptible to failure. He vaguely wondered if it was the tiny crack in the casing from the time he accidentally dropped the cell in indignation at one of Mukuro's witticisms that had given him away, and then decided it probably didn't matter at that point.

"Thirty-two calls to Italy?" Shamal asked in utter disbelief. It was the kind of question that, although rhetorical, secretly hopes for some sort of contradiction. "Are you trying to drive me to my ruin, or are you just plain insane?"

"No, well, you see," Gokudera protested, feeling extremely guilty for some reason. "I did it for the sake of the Family."

"Well, you'd better transfer into my account an amount proportional to the number of miracles you worked while you had my cell phone," Shamal replied, sitting on a chair next to the bed with a sigh. "However did you manage to dial, anyway? Half your fingers are broken, Hayato."

"You can do anything if you're determined enough," Gokudera preened. "I did have some difficulties, though."

"What you have is a mental problem," Shamal said, shaking his head in exasperation. "I hope you've been taking good care of my magazine, though," he added, sounding like he was more troubled about that than the phone calls. Gokudera couldn't say he'd be surprised if that were the case, honestly.

"It's there, inside one of the drawers," Gokudera said, straining his neck to nod at the bedside table. It proved to be a difficult task -- stupid collar. "My sister said you were perverted and a waste of space when she put it there, by the way."

Shamal retrieved the magazine and smiled ruefully. "She's eventually going to succumb to my undeniable wit and charm, you know."

"Yeah," Gokudera said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "I know."

"Look at this," Tsuna said, pointing at the picture of the Pantheon featured on the guide. "It says it's 'the best-preserved example of an Ancient Roman monumental building'. Not that I have any idea of what that implies, exactly, but it looks beautiful. Perhaps we should go tomorrow."

Mukuro nodded absently. "The Fontana di Trevi is near there, too. We can see that too, I guess. Then we could have lunch somewhere and take pictures," he added with a deceptively innocent smile. "Gokudera-kun was so upset about staying behind, we should take lots of pictures for his sake."

"Er, yes," Tsuna agreed, giving Mukuro a weird look. "Oh, we haven't seen this either," he commented, turning the page. "The Mouth of Truth. Apparently, it eats the hands of liars -- ahaha, okay, on second thought, perhaps we should skip this one."

Mukuro hummed in distracted agreement.

"What are you thinking?" Tsuna asked after a while, looking up from the guide. "If you want to tell me, I mean."

Mukuro frowned at empty space, slightly disappointed. "No, it's just, I was thinking -- your mother hasn't called in a while, huh."

Tsuna sighed and went back to looking at the pictures of the different monuments.

"Did you come here to cheer me up," Gokudera asked testily, because it had been two fucking days since Shamal took away his last means of communicating with the Tenth and he was reaching the end of his patience, "because if you did, I assure you it isn't working."

Yamamoto laughed. "Well, I've got to at least try, don't I?" he replied in disgustingly optimistic tones. Idiot. "You're just sitting here frowning at anyone who walks by and looking like your dog died. You'll wrinkle prematurely, you know."

"Well, just in case you haven't noticed, I'm not a woman. I don't care about fucking wrinkles, Yamamoto," Gokudera protested. "And if all of you keep acting like all is good in the world, then I hope you won't go around crying when the Tenth comes back sporting a nice shade of possessed-red in his right eye." He barely managed to supress a shudder at the thought.

"Oh, come on," Yamamoto replied, rolling his eyes. "Xanxus notwithstanding, do you honestly believe the guys from the Italian branch are going to let the heir get killed right under their noses?"

"Hmpf," Gokudera grunted. "What can some pussy soldier do against Mukuro? That guy is like the bad weeds in your backyard; even if you kill him, he always comes back. Fucker."

Yamamoto burst out laughing at that. "You know, you're funny when you're acting all sullen," he said fondly.

Gokudera frowned in disapproval. "I hope you're not laughing at me, you baseball freak," he said, resorting to threats, which, when in doubt, was always the safer option. "Because if you are, I -- well, I can't beat you up right now, but I'll remember. Idiot."

"Sure," Yamamoto agreed good-naturedly, not taking him seriously at all. He was trying to keep a straight face, but the occasional twitch of a muscle along his jaw gave his amusement away.

Gokudera's frown deepened. "Seriously," he asked, "what are you doing here? Don't you have better things to do?"

"Like what?" Yamamoto said.

Gokudera pretended to be deep in thought. "Oh, I don't know -- how about your job?"

"No work today," Yamamoto shook his head. "Anyway, Bianchi-san asked me to come here and pay you a visit, since apparently Shamal was a disastrous influence on you."

Gokudera snorted.

"So why don't you tell me about Italy?" Yamamoto asked, smiling that idiot grin of his. "All I did was eat pasta and drink coffee when I went there with Dino-san."

"I expected something like that," Gokudera said with an all-suffering sigh. "Why are you even asking me? It's not like I'm a History expert or anything. All I did was run around and blow things up a lot."

Yamamoto chuckled. "I expected something like that. You must know something, though, right? Tell me something. The first thing you can think of."

"What a pain," Gokudera complained, but he actually started trying to remember a good story. Then he saw the fountain pen inside the breast pocket of Yamamoto's suit jacket, and all thoughts of his infancy flew straight out the proverbial window. "Can I see that pen?"

Yamamoto looked a bit surprised, "Oh, sure," but he fished it out and held it in front of Gokudera's eyes so he could have a look. "It was a present from my dad," he explained cheerfully.

Gokudera bit his lip. Inside his head, the wheels were already turning. "Get out a piece of paper, Yamamoto. A page from that notebook over there will do. Quick."

Yamamoto stared at him in bewilderment. "Wait, what? What are you thinking, Gokudera?"

"Do I look like I have all day?" Gokudera said, rolling his eyes. Then, realising what the obvious answer to his question was, frowned in what he hoped was a menacing way and threw a meaningful look at the aforementioned notebook. "Get that paper and write what I tell you to. Dear Tenth..."

"Gokudera," Yamamoto said, slowly, as if speaking to small child. "He'll be back in two days. Even if you write him a letter, it won't reach him before that."

"Oh, whatever," Gokudera replied, rolling his eyes. "Just shut up and write."

"So," Yamamoto asked cheerfully, "how did you like Rome?"

Next to him, Gokudera, who had especifically requested that his bed be brought out to the hallway in order to welcome the Tenth or else, looked like he might be on the verge of tears. He was looking at Tsuna with worship in his eyes and crying, "Tenth! You're alive! I'm so happy!" over and over again in a deeply affective, yet slightly disturbing, tone.

"It was enjoyable, I'll say," replied Mukuro, barely resisting the temptation to take a picture of Gokudera, who was largely ignoring everyone on basis of the awaited return of his personal Messiah. Mukuro wouldn't have been surprised if he had decided to rise up and walk with the living Lazarus-style, really. "An awful lot of pigeons, though. I wanted to poison a few, but your boss wouldn't stand for it. Oh well."

Yamamoto laughed. "Yeah, I don't think you're supposed to poison the pigeons, Mukuro-san."

"Tenth!" Gokudera cried, moving his bandaged arms forward in an attempt to hug or at least touch Tsuna -- probably to check he was corporeal, Mukuro thought with no little amusement. With all those bandages, Mukuro thought with a gleeful inner cackle, he looked like the evil mummy emerged from an old pyramid to kill the main character of some horrible American film. "I'm so glad you weren't killed! I'll never let you come to harm!"

"Oh god," Tsuna muttered under his breath, once he had given Gokudera an awkward hug and asked for him to be wheeled back to his room. "I just came back and I already need a break."