[fic] Appropriation
Title: Appropriation
Pairing: Lancia/Chrome, Mukuro
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: hc_bingo “unexpected consequences of planned soulbonding”
Word Count: 1,700~
Summary: The violence of Mukuro’s memories did not bother Chrome so much as the gut wrenching sensation that she had had a hand in creating them.
A/N: The setting is TYL-ish, or at least a few years into the future.
No matter how deeply Mukuro might care for Chrome’s well being, their bond was slowly eating away at her mind, chiseling at her sanity like an ancient river wearing at its banks. Though she was more precious to him than any other vessel he had thus far possessed, her purpose was still that of a tool’s, and if destroying her was a step along the treacherous path he walked, so be it. Chrome did not mind; she was grateful for an extension on her life, the chance to mean something to the world. Whenever she felt her lips unconsciously contort into her master’s disconcerting smirk, something that occurred more often as of late, she let them. There was no fighting the inevitable.
Mukuro’s invasion of her mind had been anticipated; her invasion of his was not. It always occurred when she least expected it-while filing mundane paperwork, waiting for a contact in a café, or, the most embarrassing moments, at dinner with the family. Their concerned stares were almost as painful as the bloody images flitting through her mind like nervous sparrows. The episodes usually only lasted a minute or two, but they were long enough to instill a fear in her that rivaled the emptiness in her abdomen, a monstrous 'what if?' cavorting in her thoughts.
The violence of Mukuro’s memories did not bother her so much as the gut wrenching sensation that she had had a hand in creating them. Illogical as it seemed, it was her hands on the shattered ribs, her face splashed with still warm blood. Killing with illusions took away the physicality, the reality that came with Mukuro’s original modus operandi, the one that had led him to hell in the first place. Though her master tried his best to calm her after such visions, his sickly sweet coos of ‘My cute Chrome’ felt empty.
Regrettably, it was the only comfort she could find. No one else could understand the horror she felt, and even if she told them of her troubles, she knew they would simply pity her as a puppet of madness, not as a woman who had made a choice that happened to come with some negative consequences. She did not regret her contract with Mukuro-far from it-but there was no way she could explain this to her colleagues, her friends.
Even the other members of the Kokuyo did not understand. They revered Mukuro even more than she did, and their adoration clouded their thoughts from the possibility that one of his followers-his link to the outside world, as it was-might not love every single part of him. Only Fran had the nerve to call him an ass, but there was no way for the boy to even begin to fathom the stress of owning Mukuro’s misdeeds.
At times, Chrome felt like an alien, unable to explain herself to anyone, unsure if she wanted to.
When Lancia returned to Japan to join the Vongola Family, Chrome hid in Kokuyo Land like she had not done since she was a young girl. Mukuro’s voice lilted playfully in her head at her childishness, but he did not have remorse attached to his memories of Lancia like Chrome did. Not until a week later did she emerge from the warehouse, prompted by a frantic call from Vongola Decimo himself concerning a terrorist attack in southern Italy.
“Was that Mukuro? Because I understand he has his own agenda, but we’re trying to make friends with Don di Marco, not kill people in his territory.”
Sheepishly, Chrome returned to the base, prepping herself for a confrontation with Lancia that never happened. Instead, they exchanged pleasantries about a bright future as colleagues before going along their separate, merry ways.
The next time she talked to him was three weeks later, sneaking into the kitchen at one in the morning for a glass of water after a mission, Mukuro still congratulating her in her mind. The sight of Lancia at the table with a piece of toast and a glass of milk caught her off guard. Mukuro smirked in her head when Lancia greeted her, and she had to use all her strength to stop the expression from manifesting on her own face.
“Mission?” Lancia asked, turning back to his food. Chrome nodded, then voiced her confirmation when she realized he was no longer looking at her.
‘Sit down,’ Mukuro said, and she felt herself obey. No one spoke the rest of the time, until Chrome finished her water, placed the glass in the sink, and scurried out the door with a mumbled “Good night” on her breath.
He came to her office the next day. Chrome silently handed over the black folder, watching as he opened it and threw a cursory glance at the first page. As he turned to leave, she said, “Good luck,” in a voice barely above a whisper. He turned back, and for the first time, looked her in the eye.
“Thank you.”
It began like that, choice words exchanged in passing, nothing more than vague acquaintances, until two months later when he tried to smile at her, an awkward thing that looked out of place on his face when directed at her. She smiled back, and something changed. They began bumping into each other more and more often. The boss began assigning them on missions together, citing that Lancia was one of the only underlings who was not terrified of Chrome. When they worked together, Chrome did her best not to rely as much on Mukuro as she usually did. She found that the challenge improved her own skills, and even on solo mission, Mukuro prompted her to use him as an asset rather than a crutch.
The sensation of guilt that had originally been attached to Lancia’s arrival slowly faded, leaving Chrome with a genuine feeling of gladness that he had come to Japan. They got along well together, unlike any other person Chrome had been with (with the possible exception of Mukuro, but he was a different matter entirely). Chrome found herself telling Lancia about the inconsequential things she observed throughout the day, information she had once reserved for Mukuro. Lancia’s quiet seriousness soothed her, and she even found it calming to listen to his own voiced thoughts. Sometimes they said nothing at all, content to simply enjoy a shared silence, something no one else had considered in their efforts to get Chrome to open up. After awhile, she began to notice that Mukuro had taken to retreating from her head during the time she spent with Lancia, giving her a privacy she had not even realized she missed. It felt peaceful.
Everything came crashing down in a matter of seconds. Chrome was watching the news in the lounge with Lancia, one of those activities associated with normality that she had begun to participate in recently, when she felt the blood seep into the edges of her mind. This time it was Mukuro’s possession of the man sitting next to her, and she screamed in agony as she felt Mukuro’s hands, her hands, Lancia’s hands rip the life from his adoptive Family.
Immediately, Lancia was at her side, brushing her hair from her face as she vomited on the floor between her feet. Her skin burned where he touched her, and her muscles quivered as she, he, they tore an elderly man’s arm off with their bare hands.
“Chrome?” he asked tentatively, “Chrome, what’s wrong?”
‘Everything,’ she thought, ‘everything’s wrong.’ But the only thing she could choke out was a whispered mantra of ‘sorry, sorry, sorry’. When the memories finally faded--though ‘faded’ might not have been the best term to use with the images still burned into the back of her skull--Chrome wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and flinched away from Lancia. She swayed on her feet, and when Lancia tried to pull her back down to the couch until she was stable, she created an illusion to push him away before stumbling out of the room.
Fifteen minutes later, she heard a knock on her bedroom door. Lancia stood in the hallway, contrition for unknown deeds written across his face.
“I wanted to make sure you were alright.” His voice rumbled in a low baritone, settling at the base of Chrome’s spine and nearly bringing her to tears.
“I.” She took a deep breath and pushed the soft kufufu to the back of her mind. “I hurt you,” she whispered. Lancia shook his head lightly in confusion, breaking her heart. He reached out to touch her shoulder but aborted the gesture when she hugged her own torso and shivered.
Chrome turned to sit back down on her bed. After a few moments, probably of serious consideration, Lancia followed, kneeling before her cautiously.
“You’ve never hurt me,” he said, taking one of her hands in his own, dry, calloused ones.
In a small corner of her heart, Chrome wondered if she had finally found someone with whom she could share herself-not like the connection she had with Mukuro, something less mythical and more…human.
“Sometimes I-I can see Mukuro’s memories,” she said, looking away from Lancia, “and it feels like I’m the one participating in them, like I’m-like I’m the one killing all those people he’s killed.”
“But you’re not-”
“Just now, I saw myself make you kill your Family. I’m so sorry, I-” She choked and bowed her head.
With unnervingly steady hands, Lancia slid his fingers along Chrome’s temples and lifted her head until he could catch her eye again.
“You are not a bad person, Chrome,” he said. “Just because you have such a strong connection with Rokudou Mukuro doesn’t mean you are responsible for what he’s done in the past.”
“It’s so real,” she whispered.
“Then don’t try to bear this by yourself. I’ve been there, too, you know.”
Though Chrome knew it would take her a while to be completely comfortable with opening herself up to someone else, Lancia’s demeanor told her that he had the time and the patience to wait. She doubted the effect Mukuro’s memories had on her would ever change, but having someone else who would be there for her was comfort enough. Her hands on his was the first step.
Pairing: Lancia/Chrome, Mukuro
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: hc_bingo “unexpected consequences of planned soulbonding”
Word Count: 1,700~
Summary: The violence of Mukuro’s memories did not bother Chrome so much as the gut wrenching sensation that she had had a hand in creating them.
A/N: The setting is TYL-ish, or at least a few years into the future.
No matter how deeply Mukuro might care for Chrome’s well being, their bond was slowly eating away at her mind, chiseling at her sanity like an ancient river wearing at its banks. Though she was more precious to him than any other vessel he had thus far possessed, her purpose was still that of a tool’s, and if destroying her was a step along the treacherous path he walked, so be it. Chrome did not mind; she was grateful for an extension on her life, the chance to mean something to the world. Whenever she felt her lips unconsciously contort into her master’s disconcerting smirk, something that occurred more often as of late, she let them. There was no fighting the inevitable.
Mukuro’s invasion of her mind had been anticipated; her invasion of his was not. It always occurred when she least expected it-while filing mundane paperwork, waiting for a contact in a café, or, the most embarrassing moments, at dinner with the family. Their concerned stares were almost as painful as the bloody images flitting through her mind like nervous sparrows. The episodes usually only lasted a minute or two, but they were long enough to instill a fear in her that rivaled the emptiness in her abdomen, a monstrous 'what if?' cavorting in her thoughts.
The violence of Mukuro’s memories did not bother her so much as the gut wrenching sensation that she had had a hand in creating them. Illogical as it seemed, it was her hands on the shattered ribs, her face splashed with still warm blood. Killing with illusions took away the physicality, the reality that came with Mukuro’s original modus operandi, the one that had led him to hell in the first place. Though her master tried his best to calm her after such visions, his sickly sweet coos of ‘My cute Chrome’ felt empty.
Regrettably, it was the only comfort she could find. No one else could understand the horror she felt, and even if she told them of her troubles, she knew they would simply pity her as a puppet of madness, not as a woman who had made a choice that happened to come with some negative consequences. She did not regret her contract with Mukuro-far from it-but there was no way she could explain this to her colleagues, her friends.
Even the other members of the Kokuyo did not understand. They revered Mukuro even more than she did, and their adoration clouded their thoughts from the possibility that one of his followers-his link to the outside world, as it was-might not love every single part of him. Only Fran had the nerve to call him an ass, but there was no way for the boy to even begin to fathom the stress of owning Mukuro’s misdeeds.
At times, Chrome felt like an alien, unable to explain herself to anyone, unsure if she wanted to.
When Lancia returned to Japan to join the Vongola Family, Chrome hid in Kokuyo Land like she had not done since she was a young girl. Mukuro’s voice lilted playfully in her head at her childishness, but he did not have remorse attached to his memories of Lancia like Chrome did. Not until a week later did she emerge from the warehouse, prompted by a frantic call from Vongola Decimo himself concerning a terrorist attack in southern Italy.
“Was that Mukuro? Because I understand he has his own agenda, but we’re trying to make friends with Don di Marco, not kill people in his territory.”
Sheepishly, Chrome returned to the base, prepping herself for a confrontation with Lancia that never happened. Instead, they exchanged pleasantries about a bright future as colleagues before going along their separate, merry ways.
The next time she talked to him was three weeks later, sneaking into the kitchen at one in the morning for a glass of water after a mission, Mukuro still congratulating her in her mind. The sight of Lancia at the table with a piece of toast and a glass of milk caught her off guard. Mukuro smirked in her head when Lancia greeted her, and she had to use all her strength to stop the expression from manifesting on her own face.
“Mission?” Lancia asked, turning back to his food. Chrome nodded, then voiced her confirmation when she realized he was no longer looking at her.
‘Sit down,’ Mukuro said, and she felt herself obey. No one spoke the rest of the time, until Chrome finished her water, placed the glass in the sink, and scurried out the door with a mumbled “Good night” on her breath.
He came to her office the next day. Chrome silently handed over the black folder, watching as he opened it and threw a cursory glance at the first page. As he turned to leave, she said, “Good luck,” in a voice barely above a whisper. He turned back, and for the first time, looked her in the eye.
“Thank you.”
It began like that, choice words exchanged in passing, nothing more than vague acquaintances, until two months later when he tried to smile at her, an awkward thing that looked out of place on his face when directed at her. She smiled back, and something changed. They began bumping into each other more and more often. The boss began assigning them on missions together, citing that Lancia was one of the only underlings who was not terrified of Chrome. When they worked together, Chrome did her best not to rely as much on Mukuro as she usually did. She found that the challenge improved her own skills, and even on solo mission, Mukuro prompted her to use him as an asset rather than a crutch.
The sensation of guilt that had originally been attached to Lancia’s arrival slowly faded, leaving Chrome with a genuine feeling of gladness that he had come to Japan. They got along well together, unlike any other person Chrome had been with (with the possible exception of Mukuro, but he was a different matter entirely). Chrome found herself telling Lancia about the inconsequential things she observed throughout the day, information she had once reserved for Mukuro. Lancia’s quiet seriousness soothed her, and she even found it calming to listen to his own voiced thoughts. Sometimes they said nothing at all, content to simply enjoy a shared silence, something no one else had considered in their efforts to get Chrome to open up. After awhile, she began to notice that Mukuro had taken to retreating from her head during the time she spent with Lancia, giving her a privacy she had not even realized she missed. It felt peaceful.
Everything came crashing down in a matter of seconds. Chrome was watching the news in the lounge with Lancia, one of those activities associated with normality that she had begun to participate in recently, when she felt the blood seep into the edges of her mind. This time it was Mukuro’s possession of the man sitting next to her, and she screamed in agony as she felt Mukuro’s hands, her hands, Lancia’s hands rip the life from his adoptive Family.
Immediately, Lancia was at her side, brushing her hair from her face as she vomited on the floor between her feet. Her skin burned where he touched her, and her muscles quivered as she, he, they tore an elderly man’s arm off with their bare hands.
“Chrome?” he asked tentatively, “Chrome, what’s wrong?”
‘Everything,’ she thought, ‘everything’s wrong.’ But the only thing she could choke out was a whispered mantra of ‘sorry, sorry, sorry’. When the memories finally faded--though ‘faded’ might not have been the best term to use with the images still burned into the back of her skull--Chrome wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and flinched away from Lancia. She swayed on her feet, and when Lancia tried to pull her back down to the couch until she was stable, she created an illusion to push him away before stumbling out of the room.
Fifteen minutes later, she heard a knock on her bedroom door. Lancia stood in the hallway, contrition for unknown deeds written across his face.
“I wanted to make sure you were alright.” His voice rumbled in a low baritone, settling at the base of Chrome’s spine and nearly bringing her to tears.
“I.” She took a deep breath and pushed the soft kufufu to the back of her mind. “I hurt you,” she whispered. Lancia shook his head lightly in confusion, breaking her heart. He reached out to touch her shoulder but aborted the gesture when she hugged her own torso and shivered.
Chrome turned to sit back down on her bed. After a few moments, probably of serious consideration, Lancia followed, kneeling before her cautiously.
“You’ve never hurt me,” he said, taking one of her hands in his own, dry, calloused ones.
In a small corner of her heart, Chrome wondered if she had finally found someone with whom she could share herself-not like the connection she had with Mukuro, something less mythical and more…human.
“Sometimes I-I can see Mukuro’s memories,” she said, looking away from Lancia, “and it feels like I’m the one participating in them, like I’m-like I’m the one killing all those people he’s killed.”
“But you’re not-”
“Just now, I saw myself make you kill your Family. I’m so sorry, I-” She choked and bowed her head.
With unnervingly steady hands, Lancia slid his fingers along Chrome’s temples and lifted her head until he could catch her eye again.
“You are not a bad person, Chrome,” he said. “Just because you have such a strong connection with Rokudou Mukuro doesn’t mean you are responsible for what he’s done in the past.”
“It’s so real,” she whispered.
“Then don’t try to bear this by yourself. I’ve been there, too, you know.”
Though Chrome knew it would take her a while to be completely comfortable with opening herself up to someone else, Lancia’s demeanor told her that he had the time and the patience to wait. She doubted the effect Mukuro’s memories had on her would ever change, but having someone else who would be there for her was comfort enough. Her hands on his was the first step.