Fanfic: Distance, Chapter 1
Title: Distance
Author: saying_sooth
Pairing: For this chapter, Yama->Goku. Eventual 8059.
Word Count: ~3,300
A/N: This is the first chapter of a multi-chaptered fic for nuakiire , who is a darling. We set up our art/fic trade many months ago and she delivered, but I’m very late. @__@ Hopefully the length will make up for the tardiness?
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Chapter 1: The Beginning After the End
The Varia mansion was just out of sight from the bay that Takeshi had been dropped off at, but he could still smell a sea breeze as he walked up the gravel path. The doorknocker he lifted and let fall was bronze and heavy, and he could hear the sound of his arrival reverberating in the rooms inside. The youth who opened the door wore a coat with the Varia insignia and a thin sneer. “Whaddya want.”
Takeshi almost couldn’t understand his words through the thick slang; his Italian wasn’t good enough to digest local dialects. “I…I would like to see Squalo-san, please.”
“Th’ Commander? Who d’you think you ar’?” He made to slam the door in Takeshi’s face, but Takeshi braced an arm against the door and didn’t budge.
“My name is Takeshi Yamamoto.” It felt weird to say his name backwards. “Squalo-san will know me.”
The young Varia member took another look at Takeshi, assessing his strength. Then his leg shot up and the flat of his boot collided with Takeshi’s chest, kicking him away from the door. Takeshi skidded with a grunt of pain on the gravel drive as the door slammed shut. He rubbed his head ruefully, wondering if he would’ve had better luck if he was wearing a suit instead of his casual button-up and slacks. But maybe everyone who wanted entrance to the Varia mansion needed to storm in.
Takeshi had brought two bags with him, one a duffel for his clothes, the other - previously used for his baseball bat - for Shigure Kintoki. He’d felt strange when being brought over to the bay, déjà vu, like he was going off to baseball camp in the summer before junior high instead of seeking out Superbi Squalo. He shook off the feeling, took out his shinai and held it in his left hand, testing its weight and feel. He hadn’t fought with his left hand too many times, but it would be okay. He got onto his feet, placing his bags behind him and out of the range of destruction. With a flash, his shinai turned into katana. Takeshi brought out Kojirou to call the rain, and then he attacked.
-----
Squalo was on the second floor when the mansion shuddered. He froze, feeling a tremor transfer from the floor to his sword, and bared his teeth. “VOII!! GET OUT OF THE WAY.” He ran for the stairs, unleashing his Squalo Grande Pioggia, both of them knocking over subordinates like kingpins.
When he arrived in the entrance hall, the katana-brat looked off, somehow, and it wasn’t the lack of blood in the pile of Varia executives strewn around him (stupid policy, that). His stance was off, as if… “VOII, BRAT, PUT THAT SWORD INTO YOUR RIGHT HAND. STOP MESSING AROUND, DAMMIT.”
The katana-brat saw him and relaxed. “Squalo-san, you’re here.” His deadly intent faded away, though there hadn’t been much in the first place. Squalo frowned.
“I’M HERE TO FIGHT, NOT TALK.”
“Ah, sorry, Squalo-san. Could we fight after you…help me with something?” The katana-brat laid his once-again shinai on the ground and raised his right arm up for Squalo to see. It was a newly healed stump, cut away right above the wrist.
“…the hell happened, brat?”
Takeshi dropped his arm once more, pulling his right sleeve down but flinching when he accidentally touched the healed-over amputation. “Let’s not talk about it, Squalo-san. I just want to get better.”
“Bullshit.” Squalo said, but he let it slide. “Go get your stuff, brat. You’ll be here for fucking eternity if you hold onto your self-pity.”
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4 weeks before
Gokudera sat at his piano and his fingers stumbled. That was the only word for it, because he spectacularly failed in practicing enough to master Chopin. Maybe he had a little talent, but that couldn’t make up for a deficiency in practice hours. Still, as he shifted from chord to chord, peering closely at the sheet music and sight-reading the notes, his heart felt the lightest it had in weeks. His life had been…frustrating, lately.
It had nothing to do with the Tenth, because the Tenth was great and brilliant and the Embodiment of Goodness, but the level of business the Vongola was conducting had escalated recently. This had resulted in more missions for everyone else…and more planning and strategizing for Gokudera. He wouldn’t have been surprised had his butt taken on impressions of his leather office chair after his many hours of sitting.
This afternoon, the Tenth had forced him to take a break. Tsuna had come into his office right as Gokudera broke a pen from holding it too hard too long, and he had been adamant about getting his Storm Guardian to rest. Gokudera had acquiesced easily enough, in order to avoid telling Tsuna that it was the third pen he’d broken and that he wore his reading glasses because it hid the bags under his eyes.
So now, Gokudera was playing piano in his soundproofed practice room in the middle of base. Next to the practice room was an observation room, one that was used often - though never to Gokudera’s knowledge, since he’d had the window made from one-way glass. He was self-conscious about performing for others (especially because it brought back memories of poison cookies), but apparently a lot of the Family found his practices relaxing to listen to.
Gokudera didn’t know why anyone would want to listen to his pathetic piano-playing, but maybe hearing the Right Hand Man stumble at the instrument helped them to be patient in later meetings. Gokudera was very into micromanaging and liked to plan and monitor the Family’s each and every move. Everything worked out in the end, but he knew that sometimes, Family members wished that he would put more trust in people who weren’t Tsuna.
Gokudera didn’t see what was wrong with micromanaging, but he wished that he was carrying out more missions. His fingers itched for dynamite and skull cannon, and his training room - even with Giannini’s recent upgrades and Bianchi’s scorpions - could not relieve his boredom. He wanted action.
Sure, he knew that the Tenth needed his brain, and he was proud that nobody could replace him in that respect. It was just…he saw Yamamoto sometimes, coming back after a successful mission. His partner looked so sated, like some wildness had been driven off by the exertion. Gokudera hadn’t had that outlet for half a month, so his fingers jumped, scrambled and recouped on the piano keys, twitching like he was running on caffeine and sleep madness. But the music still made him happy, if only because he could better appreciate Chopin’s brilliance while trying to reproduce it. Yamamoto, at least, would never be able to do that.
Gokudera finished the piece and let his hands come to rest on his lap, his thoughts focusing on Yamamoto Takeshi, Guardian of Rain. That last thought…had been full of a petty jealousy that Gokudera hadn’t explored since junior high. He frowned, not liking the feeling. He and Yamamoto had been on good terms ever since they’d returned from Ten Years Later, and he didn’t want to destroy that camaraderie. Sure, Yamamoto was getting missions and he wasn’t, and Yamamoto was being sent to diplomatic meetings and he’d never been, and Yamamoto was probably getting laid on a regular basis and he was practically a virgin, but all that didn’t count. Gokudera ground his teeth.
It was all because Yamamoto was motherfucking impossible to hate. Yamamoto sometimes dropped by with an extra espresso or beer, sometimes saved a seat for him at meetings, sometimes made him stop working and have a smoke, laughing with him about Lambo and I-Pin's latest antics. If Yamamoto wasn’t so damn nice, Gokudera could have nursed his grudge in peace. But because Yamamoto was Yamamoto and effortlessly so, Gokudera stuffed his petty jealousy into the deepest recesses of his subconscious and waited for it to disappear. After all, Yamamoto’s success was the Vongola’s success. They could not be and would not be differentiated.
Gokudera lowered the lid on his grand piano carefully and went back to his paperwork.
In the midst of the day, the karmic machine decided to reward his decision of stuffing his jealousy where the sun don’t shine with a mission from the Tenth. A mission where Gokudera would get to wreak havoc and destruction and all sorts of lovely things on the base of a Family who deserved it. At the end of the day, Gokudera went back to his room with a pile of paperwork in his arms, his black mission folder on top. He dropped in on the Tenth’s office to thank Tsuna (once again), which the Tenth brushed off as “I know you needed it, Gokudera-kun. I shouldn’t have cooped you up in here for so long.”
Gokudera went off on a long speech assuring the Tenth that he had done nothing wrong, but Tsuna shushed him with a smile and sent him off to bed. “After all, you have a long day tomorrow, don’t you?”
Gokudera beamed at the thought. He retreated to his room, just down the hallway from the Tenth’s, and let his paperwork fall in a pile onto his bureau. The piece of furniture creaked ominously. Gokudera stretched, his bones popping and settling. He rolled his shoulders and felt the stress stream out of them. He breathed. Normally, he would squeeze in an hour of training between paperwork and sleep, but with the early mission tomorrow, he could have a half-an-hour training in the morning as a warm-up before going off.
That decided, he took off his tie and belt, snatched a towel from his closet and went into his bathroom. There, he turned the water on and undressed. His dress pants pooled around his socks and he stepped out of them carefully before peeling off both of his socks in quick succession. Then, he unbuttoned his shirt, and after he took that off, he watched the movement of his diaphragm in the mirror as he breathed.
His body was scrawny and thin. Tough, he amended. Surviving. There were soft pink lines, scar lines, coasting the contours of his chest and legs. There were green and yellow bruises, old burns, not quite healed scratches. If he were a cat, he would be a calico, all patches and splotches of color. Gokudera sighed, shed his boxers and stepped into the shower. Looking strong and distinguished at barely-twenty was a special ability reserved for people like the Tenth, who had dignity, and Yamamoto, who had cool. In the deepest recesses of his mind, Gokudera was afraid that he was just a skinny nerd, wannabe cool, scrambling to conceal his ineptness from his Family.
-----
Yamamoto’s mission had been clean. It was a grab and bag instead of a kill, and he and his capo had carried out Gokudera’s plan to perfection. Shigure Kintoki had sung beautifully, the flat of the blade whistling against the wind, and not a drop of blood had been spilled. Yamamoto drove back to base himself, the chauffeur not necessary when his nerves were intact, and he spent the afternoon listening to music played by Gokudera, who’d been evicted from his work by Tsuna.
Yamamoto thought that his partner looked softer in front of a piano, younger maybe. His suit jacket was off, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and Gokudera’s rings glinted on the black piano top - the only time he ever took all of them off. Maybe that was why the music room was only a piano in the middle of four blank walls. As minimal and uninviting as it was, at least Gokudera would never be caught unawares without his rings. Maybe this was why he could relax, because in this room he had a ten foot radius of empty space, a buffer against the world. Yamamoto watched him through one-way glass, wishing that he could close that distance and that Gokudera would welcome his presence with a smile.
He’d always wanted to get too close. From the first instant that Gokudera had been introduced to class 2-B in Namimori Junior High, Yamamoto had wanted to sling his arm around those bony shoulders, steer him into Take Sushi, make friends, share stories. He had rational reasons for this - the transfer student was foreign and interesting, Gokudera was almost unhealthily thin, and they were both participating in Tsuna’s game-which-was-never-a-game.
Gokudera also went through a pack of smokes per day, wore strange jewelry, got perfect scores on chemistry tests and did it all with an apathy that made Yamamoto wonder what he could really do when motivated. He found out during the Ring Battles - apparently Gokudera could make dynamite fly and almost throw his life away for Tsuna. Yamamoto’s stomach lurched at the memory. Then, almost as if Gokudera had overheard his thoughts, the piano music stopped. Gokudera stood up, put his rings back on, closed the piano lid and walked out of the room. Yamamoto stared after him, wondering when his fascination for Gokudera had turned into this…longing.
Probably when he realized that Gokudera would respect him and recognize him if he worked hard. While recuperating from that battle with Gamma in the forest in the future, Yamamoto had lain in bed and debated baseball versus the sword. Tsuna was cool, Gokudera was too, and Squalo-san was instructive, if violent. He had a lot of friends over on the sword side, while on the baseball side…well, there was no one really important. His dad would support him whichever one he chose, and he would probably be happy to see the Shigure Souen Ryu passed on. After that decision, Yamamoto had slept a dreamless sleep.
In the final standoff during Ten Years Later, he and Gokudera had fought a combo battle again, this time with a more successful outcome. Gokudera had ripped off round after round, all of his projectiles coated with Storm flames and Uri wreaking his own brand of havoc. Yamamoto had used his speed to maneuver around Gokudera’s storm and to target the blind spots, and sometimes he heard Gokudera’s shields clacking behind him, watching his back. Afterward, Yamamoto had received his first nod of pride from Gokudera, and he’d felt like he’d just won the World Series.
-----
Gokudera had just finished his shower and put on some boxers when there was a knock at his door. “Who is it?” he called absentmindedly, going back into the bathroom to pick up his glasses.
“Ah, it’s Yamamoto.”
“Come in, it’s unlocked.”
When Gokudera came out, he found his partner staring at the black folder on top of the rest of his paperwork. “You have a mission for tomorrow?” Yamamoto asked.
“Yup.” Gokudera grinned in anticipation. “About time I tried out those new bullets for the skull cannon.”
“Then, I guess I’ll drink both of these?” Yamamoto held up two bottles of Asahi beer, fresh out of the fridge with their bottle caps popped off.
Gokudera rolled his eyes. “Give it. A little alcohol tonight won’t affect anything tomorrow.”
Yamamoto laughed as he held out the beer. “Haha, need my help for paperwork tonight? Seems like you have a lot.”
“Stop understating and get to work. Sort out the urgent from the non-urgent, yeah?”
“Ok.” Yamamoto settled on the floor before the bed, starting to sort the stack of paper as Gokudera sat on his bed and studied his mission details. This had become somewhat of a tradition lately - Yamamoto knew enough about Family business to help out with paperwork in a general way, so he would pick out the day-to-day papers while letting Gokudera focus on the problems that required more brainwork. He enjoyed being in Gokudera’s presence, and even if Gokudera never voiced it, Yamamoto knew that he welcomed the help. Gokudera worked too hard, so hard that he didn’t have enough time to train - only an hour or so per day, Yamamoto knew.
Yamamoto couldn’t resist sneaking another look at Gokudera’s black folder - he wished he knew what mission Gokudera had been assigned. It wasn’t that he had doubts about Gokudera’s ability, it was just…Gokudera wasn’t at the top of his game right now. Tsuna should have given him more warning, more time to plan. But maybe Yamamoto could convince Gokudera to take him along.
“Hey, Gokudera?”
“What?” Gokudera answered, looking up.
“What kind of mission did you get?”
Gokudera raised one eyebrow, already on to him. “None of your business.”
Yamamoto laughed. “Aww, don’t be like that! We’re partners, right?” They could even be called the best tag team in the Family. “And partners should share!”
Gokudera looked to the side and muttered some uncharitable things under his breath.
“What?” Yamamoto asked.
“You don’t share your missions.” Gokudera grumbled. “I’ve been stuck here for the past few weeks while you’ve gone to…” he stopped talking, swallowing his jealousy. “I deserve this, Yamamoto.”
“I know you do. I could be your backup, or just your driver!”
Gokudera started shaking his head. “I don’t need either of those. I can take care of this by myself. Besides, you just completed a mission today. Stay here and rest up your nerves.”
Yamamoto opened his mouth to argue further, but even he could see that it was futile. He backed down. “Fine. Just…be careful, okay?”
Gokudera stared at him for a long moment before nodding. “Sure.”
“Thanks.” Yamamoto said with a wide smile.
“Psh, don’t take it as a compliment to yourself. What would the Tenth say if I came back injured or killed?! I’m not the reckless teenager I used to be.”
“Haha, I know.”
“Then get back to sorting the paperwork, alright? I want to get to sleep by eleven. Early start tomorrow.”
“Aa, ok.”
-----
On the walk back to his quarters, Yamamoto made a detour to Tsuna’s office. He knocked on the door quietly and went in. “Hey Boss.”
Tsuna looked up with a smile that was welcoming, if a touch tired. “Hey Yamamoto. How are you?”
“Fine. You’re up late, Boss.”
Tsuna gave a soft laugh. “You are too. Can’t sleep?”
Yamamoto shrugged. “The mission went well. I should be okay.”
Tsuna’s eyes assessed him. “But…?”
“Haha, I guess I’m still afraid of the nightmares. Not very hitman-like of the natural born assassin, eh?”
Tsuna smiled at Yamamoto’s attempt to play it off, but his eyes stayed serious. “That’s nothing to be ashamed of. It shows that you still have a soul.”
“…Thanks Boss.” Yamamoto said, and his smile was grateful.
That was when Tsuna’s expression turned sheepish. “Look at me spouting off all these meaningful lines. Half of the time, I don’t even know where they come from.”
Yamamoto laughed. “Of course you do, Tsuna. They come from your heart.”
“Yeah…I guess they do.” Tsuna smiled again. “Was there anything in particular you came to talk to me about?”
“Yup. You know the mission that you assigned to Gokudera today? I was wondering if I could get a copy of the details.”
“You’re worried about him?” Nobody escaped the Hyper Intuition.
“I suppose so. He hasn’t had a mission in a while, and I just want to be there as backup.”
Tsuna selected a black folder from the pile on his desk and handed it to Yamamoto. “Here’s a copy of everything I gave to Gokudera-kun.” he said. “But I hope you know what you’re getting into. Gokudera-kun will be furious if he learns of your involvement.”
“Then it’s good that I don’t plan on letting him know, isn’t it?” Yamamoto said. “And don’t think I didn’t see what you pulled there, Tsuna. You didn’t file this copy away for recordkeeping because you knew I would come for it.”
Tsuna looked as innocent as a newborn babe - probably an expression he learned from Reborn, Yamamoto thought. “What? Don’t look at me. I only got lazy and put off my filing till this evening.” His expression turned mischievous. “Though it was great to have an excuse to do so.”
Yamamoto laughed. “Well, goodnight Tsuna. Go to bed soon, alright?”
“Goodnight Yamamoto. I’ll go to bed soon enough.”
Yamamoto walked out and closed the door behind him. It was time for him to study up on the mission details for tomorrow.
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A/N: So, embarking on the journey that is a multi-chaptered fic is always fun. Please don't expect regular updates. @__@ I have a good idea of where I want to go with this, so I'm hoping that the words come easily, but commitments are always tricky things. That said, I hope you enjoy reading this fic as much as I enjoy writing it (especially you, nuakiire ♥).
Author: saying_sooth
Pairing: For this chapter, Yama->Goku. Eventual 8059.
Word Count: ~3,300
A/N: This is the first chapter of a multi-chaptered fic for nuakiire , who is a darling. We set up our art/fic trade many months ago and she delivered, but I’m very late. @__@ Hopefully the length will make up for the tardiness?
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Chapter 1: The Beginning After the End
The Varia mansion was just out of sight from the bay that Takeshi had been dropped off at, but he could still smell a sea breeze as he walked up the gravel path. The doorknocker he lifted and let fall was bronze and heavy, and he could hear the sound of his arrival reverberating in the rooms inside. The youth who opened the door wore a coat with the Varia insignia and a thin sneer. “Whaddya want.”
Takeshi almost couldn’t understand his words through the thick slang; his Italian wasn’t good enough to digest local dialects. “I…I would like to see Squalo-san, please.”
“Th’ Commander? Who d’you think you ar’?” He made to slam the door in Takeshi’s face, but Takeshi braced an arm against the door and didn’t budge.
“My name is Takeshi Yamamoto.” It felt weird to say his name backwards. “Squalo-san will know me.”
The young Varia member took another look at Takeshi, assessing his strength. Then his leg shot up and the flat of his boot collided with Takeshi’s chest, kicking him away from the door. Takeshi skidded with a grunt of pain on the gravel drive as the door slammed shut. He rubbed his head ruefully, wondering if he would’ve had better luck if he was wearing a suit instead of his casual button-up and slacks. But maybe everyone who wanted entrance to the Varia mansion needed to storm in.
Takeshi had brought two bags with him, one a duffel for his clothes, the other - previously used for his baseball bat - for Shigure Kintoki. He’d felt strange when being brought over to the bay, déjà vu, like he was going off to baseball camp in the summer before junior high instead of seeking out Superbi Squalo. He shook off the feeling, took out his shinai and held it in his left hand, testing its weight and feel. He hadn’t fought with his left hand too many times, but it would be okay. He got onto his feet, placing his bags behind him and out of the range of destruction. With a flash, his shinai turned into katana. Takeshi brought out Kojirou to call the rain, and then he attacked.
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Squalo was on the second floor when the mansion shuddered. He froze, feeling a tremor transfer from the floor to his sword, and bared his teeth. “VOII!! GET OUT OF THE WAY.” He ran for the stairs, unleashing his Squalo Grande Pioggia, both of them knocking over subordinates like kingpins.
When he arrived in the entrance hall, the katana-brat looked off, somehow, and it wasn’t the lack of blood in the pile of Varia executives strewn around him (stupid policy, that). His stance was off, as if… “VOII, BRAT, PUT THAT SWORD INTO YOUR RIGHT HAND. STOP MESSING AROUND, DAMMIT.”
The katana-brat saw him and relaxed. “Squalo-san, you’re here.” His deadly intent faded away, though there hadn’t been much in the first place. Squalo frowned.
“I’M HERE TO FIGHT, NOT TALK.”
“Ah, sorry, Squalo-san. Could we fight after you…help me with something?” The katana-brat laid his once-again shinai on the ground and raised his right arm up for Squalo to see. It was a newly healed stump, cut away right above the wrist.
“…the hell happened, brat?”
Takeshi dropped his arm once more, pulling his right sleeve down but flinching when he accidentally touched the healed-over amputation. “Let’s not talk about it, Squalo-san. I just want to get better.”
“Bullshit.” Squalo said, but he let it slide. “Go get your stuff, brat. You’ll be here for fucking eternity if you hold onto your self-pity.”
-----
4 weeks before
Gokudera sat at his piano and his fingers stumbled. That was the only word for it, because he spectacularly failed in practicing enough to master Chopin. Maybe he had a little talent, but that couldn’t make up for a deficiency in practice hours. Still, as he shifted from chord to chord, peering closely at the sheet music and sight-reading the notes, his heart felt the lightest it had in weeks. His life had been…frustrating, lately.
It had nothing to do with the Tenth, because the Tenth was great and brilliant and the Embodiment of Goodness, but the level of business the Vongola was conducting had escalated recently. This had resulted in more missions for everyone else…and more planning and strategizing for Gokudera. He wouldn’t have been surprised had his butt taken on impressions of his leather office chair after his many hours of sitting.
This afternoon, the Tenth had forced him to take a break. Tsuna had come into his office right as Gokudera broke a pen from holding it too hard too long, and he had been adamant about getting his Storm Guardian to rest. Gokudera had acquiesced easily enough, in order to avoid telling Tsuna that it was the third pen he’d broken and that he wore his reading glasses because it hid the bags under his eyes.
So now, Gokudera was playing piano in his soundproofed practice room in the middle of base. Next to the practice room was an observation room, one that was used often - though never to Gokudera’s knowledge, since he’d had the window made from one-way glass. He was self-conscious about performing for others (especially because it brought back memories of poison cookies), but apparently a lot of the Family found his practices relaxing to listen to.
Gokudera didn’t know why anyone would want to listen to his pathetic piano-playing, but maybe hearing the Right Hand Man stumble at the instrument helped them to be patient in later meetings. Gokudera was very into micromanaging and liked to plan and monitor the Family’s each and every move. Everything worked out in the end, but he knew that sometimes, Family members wished that he would put more trust in people who weren’t Tsuna.
Gokudera didn’t see what was wrong with micromanaging, but he wished that he was carrying out more missions. His fingers itched for dynamite and skull cannon, and his training room - even with Giannini’s recent upgrades and Bianchi’s scorpions - could not relieve his boredom. He wanted action.
Sure, he knew that the Tenth needed his brain, and he was proud that nobody could replace him in that respect. It was just…he saw Yamamoto sometimes, coming back after a successful mission. His partner looked so sated, like some wildness had been driven off by the exertion. Gokudera hadn’t had that outlet for half a month, so his fingers jumped, scrambled and recouped on the piano keys, twitching like he was running on caffeine and sleep madness. But the music still made him happy, if only because he could better appreciate Chopin’s brilliance while trying to reproduce it. Yamamoto, at least, would never be able to do that.
Gokudera finished the piece and let his hands come to rest on his lap, his thoughts focusing on Yamamoto Takeshi, Guardian of Rain. That last thought…had been full of a petty jealousy that Gokudera hadn’t explored since junior high. He frowned, not liking the feeling. He and Yamamoto had been on good terms ever since they’d returned from Ten Years Later, and he didn’t want to destroy that camaraderie. Sure, Yamamoto was getting missions and he wasn’t, and Yamamoto was being sent to diplomatic meetings and he’d never been, and Yamamoto was probably getting laid on a regular basis and he was practically a virgin, but all that didn’t count. Gokudera ground his teeth.
It was all because Yamamoto was motherfucking impossible to hate. Yamamoto sometimes dropped by with an extra espresso or beer, sometimes saved a seat for him at meetings, sometimes made him stop working and have a smoke, laughing with him about Lambo and I-Pin's latest antics. If Yamamoto wasn’t so damn nice, Gokudera could have nursed his grudge in peace. But because Yamamoto was Yamamoto and effortlessly so, Gokudera stuffed his petty jealousy into the deepest recesses of his subconscious and waited for it to disappear. After all, Yamamoto’s success was the Vongola’s success. They could not be and would not be differentiated.
Gokudera lowered the lid on his grand piano carefully and went back to his paperwork.
In the midst of the day, the karmic machine decided to reward his decision of stuffing his jealousy where the sun don’t shine with a mission from the Tenth. A mission where Gokudera would get to wreak havoc and destruction and all sorts of lovely things on the base of a Family who deserved it. At the end of the day, Gokudera went back to his room with a pile of paperwork in his arms, his black mission folder on top. He dropped in on the Tenth’s office to thank Tsuna (once again), which the Tenth brushed off as “I know you needed it, Gokudera-kun. I shouldn’t have cooped you up in here for so long.”
Gokudera went off on a long speech assuring the Tenth that he had done nothing wrong, but Tsuna shushed him with a smile and sent him off to bed. “After all, you have a long day tomorrow, don’t you?”
Gokudera beamed at the thought. He retreated to his room, just down the hallway from the Tenth’s, and let his paperwork fall in a pile onto his bureau. The piece of furniture creaked ominously. Gokudera stretched, his bones popping and settling. He rolled his shoulders and felt the stress stream out of them. He breathed. Normally, he would squeeze in an hour of training between paperwork and sleep, but with the early mission tomorrow, he could have a half-an-hour training in the morning as a warm-up before going off.
That decided, he took off his tie and belt, snatched a towel from his closet and went into his bathroom. There, he turned the water on and undressed. His dress pants pooled around his socks and he stepped out of them carefully before peeling off both of his socks in quick succession. Then, he unbuttoned his shirt, and after he took that off, he watched the movement of his diaphragm in the mirror as he breathed.
His body was scrawny and thin. Tough, he amended. Surviving. There were soft pink lines, scar lines, coasting the contours of his chest and legs. There were green and yellow bruises, old burns, not quite healed scratches. If he were a cat, he would be a calico, all patches and splotches of color. Gokudera sighed, shed his boxers and stepped into the shower. Looking strong and distinguished at barely-twenty was a special ability reserved for people like the Tenth, who had dignity, and Yamamoto, who had cool. In the deepest recesses of his mind, Gokudera was afraid that he was just a skinny nerd, wannabe cool, scrambling to conceal his ineptness from his Family.
-----
Yamamoto’s mission had been clean. It was a grab and bag instead of a kill, and he and his capo had carried out Gokudera’s plan to perfection. Shigure Kintoki had sung beautifully, the flat of the blade whistling against the wind, and not a drop of blood had been spilled. Yamamoto drove back to base himself, the chauffeur not necessary when his nerves were intact, and he spent the afternoon listening to music played by Gokudera, who’d been evicted from his work by Tsuna.
Yamamoto thought that his partner looked softer in front of a piano, younger maybe. His suit jacket was off, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and Gokudera’s rings glinted on the black piano top - the only time he ever took all of them off. Maybe that was why the music room was only a piano in the middle of four blank walls. As minimal and uninviting as it was, at least Gokudera would never be caught unawares without his rings. Maybe this was why he could relax, because in this room he had a ten foot radius of empty space, a buffer against the world. Yamamoto watched him through one-way glass, wishing that he could close that distance and that Gokudera would welcome his presence with a smile.
He’d always wanted to get too close. From the first instant that Gokudera had been introduced to class 2-B in Namimori Junior High, Yamamoto had wanted to sling his arm around those bony shoulders, steer him into Take Sushi, make friends, share stories. He had rational reasons for this - the transfer student was foreign and interesting, Gokudera was almost unhealthily thin, and they were both participating in Tsuna’s game-which-was-never-a-game.
Gokudera also went through a pack of smokes per day, wore strange jewelry, got perfect scores on chemistry tests and did it all with an apathy that made Yamamoto wonder what he could really do when motivated. He found out during the Ring Battles - apparently Gokudera could make dynamite fly and almost throw his life away for Tsuna. Yamamoto’s stomach lurched at the memory. Then, almost as if Gokudera had overheard his thoughts, the piano music stopped. Gokudera stood up, put his rings back on, closed the piano lid and walked out of the room. Yamamoto stared after him, wondering when his fascination for Gokudera had turned into this…longing.
Probably when he realized that Gokudera would respect him and recognize him if he worked hard. While recuperating from that battle with Gamma in the forest in the future, Yamamoto had lain in bed and debated baseball versus the sword. Tsuna was cool, Gokudera was too, and Squalo-san was instructive, if violent. He had a lot of friends over on the sword side, while on the baseball side…well, there was no one really important. His dad would support him whichever one he chose, and he would probably be happy to see the Shigure Souen Ryu passed on. After that decision, Yamamoto had slept a dreamless sleep.
In the final standoff during Ten Years Later, he and Gokudera had fought a combo battle again, this time with a more successful outcome. Gokudera had ripped off round after round, all of his projectiles coated with Storm flames and Uri wreaking his own brand of havoc. Yamamoto had used his speed to maneuver around Gokudera’s storm and to target the blind spots, and sometimes he heard Gokudera’s shields clacking behind him, watching his back. Afterward, Yamamoto had received his first nod of pride from Gokudera, and he’d felt like he’d just won the World Series.
-----
Gokudera had just finished his shower and put on some boxers when there was a knock at his door. “Who is it?” he called absentmindedly, going back into the bathroom to pick up his glasses.
“Ah, it’s Yamamoto.”
“Come in, it’s unlocked.”
When Gokudera came out, he found his partner staring at the black folder on top of the rest of his paperwork. “You have a mission for tomorrow?” Yamamoto asked.
“Yup.” Gokudera grinned in anticipation. “About time I tried out those new bullets for the skull cannon.”
“Then, I guess I’ll drink both of these?” Yamamoto held up two bottles of Asahi beer, fresh out of the fridge with their bottle caps popped off.
Gokudera rolled his eyes. “Give it. A little alcohol tonight won’t affect anything tomorrow.”
Yamamoto laughed as he held out the beer. “Haha, need my help for paperwork tonight? Seems like you have a lot.”
“Stop understating and get to work. Sort out the urgent from the non-urgent, yeah?”
“Ok.” Yamamoto settled on the floor before the bed, starting to sort the stack of paper as Gokudera sat on his bed and studied his mission details. This had become somewhat of a tradition lately - Yamamoto knew enough about Family business to help out with paperwork in a general way, so he would pick out the day-to-day papers while letting Gokudera focus on the problems that required more brainwork. He enjoyed being in Gokudera’s presence, and even if Gokudera never voiced it, Yamamoto knew that he welcomed the help. Gokudera worked too hard, so hard that he didn’t have enough time to train - only an hour or so per day, Yamamoto knew.
Yamamoto couldn’t resist sneaking another look at Gokudera’s black folder - he wished he knew what mission Gokudera had been assigned. It wasn’t that he had doubts about Gokudera’s ability, it was just…Gokudera wasn’t at the top of his game right now. Tsuna should have given him more warning, more time to plan. But maybe Yamamoto could convince Gokudera to take him along.
“Hey, Gokudera?”
“What?” Gokudera answered, looking up.
“What kind of mission did you get?”
Gokudera raised one eyebrow, already on to him. “None of your business.”
Yamamoto laughed. “Aww, don’t be like that! We’re partners, right?” They could even be called the best tag team in the Family. “And partners should share!”
Gokudera looked to the side and muttered some uncharitable things under his breath.
“What?” Yamamoto asked.
“You don’t share your missions.” Gokudera grumbled. “I’ve been stuck here for the past few weeks while you’ve gone to…” he stopped talking, swallowing his jealousy. “I deserve this, Yamamoto.”
“I know you do. I could be your backup, or just your driver!”
Gokudera started shaking his head. “I don’t need either of those. I can take care of this by myself. Besides, you just completed a mission today. Stay here and rest up your nerves.”
Yamamoto opened his mouth to argue further, but even he could see that it was futile. He backed down. “Fine. Just…be careful, okay?”
Gokudera stared at him for a long moment before nodding. “Sure.”
“Thanks.” Yamamoto said with a wide smile.
“Psh, don’t take it as a compliment to yourself. What would the Tenth say if I came back injured or killed?! I’m not the reckless teenager I used to be.”
“Haha, I know.”
“Then get back to sorting the paperwork, alright? I want to get to sleep by eleven. Early start tomorrow.”
“Aa, ok.”
-----
On the walk back to his quarters, Yamamoto made a detour to Tsuna’s office. He knocked on the door quietly and went in. “Hey Boss.”
Tsuna looked up with a smile that was welcoming, if a touch tired. “Hey Yamamoto. How are you?”
“Fine. You’re up late, Boss.”
Tsuna gave a soft laugh. “You are too. Can’t sleep?”
Yamamoto shrugged. “The mission went well. I should be okay.”
Tsuna’s eyes assessed him. “But…?”
“Haha, I guess I’m still afraid of the nightmares. Not very hitman-like of the natural born assassin, eh?”
Tsuna smiled at Yamamoto’s attempt to play it off, but his eyes stayed serious. “That’s nothing to be ashamed of. It shows that you still have a soul.”
“…Thanks Boss.” Yamamoto said, and his smile was grateful.
That was when Tsuna’s expression turned sheepish. “Look at me spouting off all these meaningful lines. Half of the time, I don’t even know where they come from.”
Yamamoto laughed. “Of course you do, Tsuna. They come from your heart.”
“Yeah…I guess they do.” Tsuna smiled again. “Was there anything in particular you came to talk to me about?”
“Yup. You know the mission that you assigned to Gokudera today? I was wondering if I could get a copy of the details.”
“You’re worried about him?” Nobody escaped the Hyper Intuition.
“I suppose so. He hasn’t had a mission in a while, and I just want to be there as backup.”
Tsuna selected a black folder from the pile on his desk and handed it to Yamamoto. “Here’s a copy of everything I gave to Gokudera-kun.” he said. “But I hope you know what you’re getting into. Gokudera-kun will be furious if he learns of your involvement.”
“Then it’s good that I don’t plan on letting him know, isn’t it?” Yamamoto said. “And don’t think I didn’t see what you pulled there, Tsuna. You didn’t file this copy away for recordkeeping because you knew I would come for it.”
Tsuna looked as innocent as a newborn babe - probably an expression he learned from Reborn, Yamamoto thought. “What? Don’t look at me. I only got lazy and put off my filing till this evening.” His expression turned mischievous. “Though it was great to have an excuse to do so.”
Yamamoto laughed. “Well, goodnight Tsuna. Go to bed soon, alright?”
“Goodnight Yamamoto. I’ll go to bed soon enough.”
Yamamoto walked out and closed the door behind him. It was time for him to study up on the mission details for tomorrow.
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A/N: So, embarking on the journey that is a multi-chaptered fic is always fun. Please don't expect regular updates. @__@ I have a good idea of where I want to go with this, so I'm hoping that the words come easily, but commitments are always tricky things. That said, I hope you enjoy reading this fic as much as I enjoy writing it (especially you, nuakiire ♥).