(no subject)
☣(un)finished.
PG13 | ASSASSINATION ATTEMPTS | 5872
The truth is a funny thing. Sometimes it hurts, sometimes it doesn't, and sometimes it just confuses the fuck out of you until you run out of options. But it takes its toll, just like everything else, sinks its claws deep inside of you-it'll never let you go. When Gokudera found out that the lady whose name he never learned was actually his mother, he did the only thing a child of his age could do: run away from it. But it hung around like a perpetual black cloud, dampening his outlook on life and everyone else that wasn't him.
Of course, things are different now, and he has the Tenth, and maybe that bastard of a baseball freak too, and that stupid woman, and-and everyone else, much to his dismay, to thank for it (not that he'd ever admit this to anyone other than the Tenth). But when he learns about things like Shamal may have had a part in the death of your mother, then what is he supposed to do? There's always that option of ignoring it, just like he did sixteen years ago, and he even considered this one too, but to revert back to to having that black cloud around him isn't something he really wants anymore.
Not after everything.
So now there's option two.
And this involves hunting down the very bastard that just messed up the story he lived with for the rest of his life.
Up until now, anyway.
He learns from Dino that Shamal is currently situated in Milan, one the largest cities in this godforsaken country, where fashion is everyone's lifeline, the heartbeat that keeps them in motion, breathing, alive. It seems bizarre to him that Shamal would pick such a place to live in, when Venice would have made more sense (where the one-night-stand kind of romance is always an option) and would have catered to his needs better, but it's not a thought he cares a lot about to spend too much time thinking about. Not when he has other things in mind, other things that need answers.
It takes him a while to track Shamal down-whoever said it was easy to look for a trail of broken hearts was out of their mind-but he finds him after the thirteenth bar. The bastard's completely wasted, as far as Gokudera can tell, because he's trying to put the moves on a classic lady in red, only to get slapped because she already has a lady in black to keep her in company. Gokudera sees that split-second confusion flash across Shamal's face, and then there's that moment of delight as he attempts to sling his arms around both of the women's shoulders, to bring them closer to him, saying something akin to three's never a crowd, right, kittens?
Gokudera decides this is the best time to move.
He weaves his way through the bar's crowd, settling himself behind Shamal, because both sides are already preoccupied by the two women who are desperately trying to shove him off. Shamal's laughing, but it dies down when he gradually takes notice of Gokudera's presence behind him, tilting his head backwards to dazzle him with a smile, only to have it collapse once he realizes who it is.
"We need to talk." Straight to the point, as always.
"I'm a little busy~" The sing-song tone in Shamal's voice is suave enough to make it sound like he's serious about this. "Can't it wait?"
"No. Hurry up. Or else I'll make a scene and ruin your reputation for life."
It's a threat that has a sharp and don't-fuck-with-me edge to it, a threat that makes Shamal take one look at him again, before sighing and letting the two ladies go with a sigh. He pulls himself to his feet, flashes one last smile, and bids them good night, narrowly avoiding their incoming assault via their purses.
Both men head for the exit, and Shamal has to ask, "Well? What's so important that you have to drag me away like this?"
Gokudera ignores that. "Where's your place?"
"Hmm? Hayato, you know I don't swing that way-"
And this is where Gokudera loses his temper a little, "I'm fucking serious, old man!"
Another sigh, another look at him, and then Shamal finally says, "Got a ride?"
"Yeah."
"Then don't lose sight of me."
Milan is a gorgeous thing to watch at night, even if it's a not-quite-panoramic view made possible by riding his Brutale on the city streets. Shamal is right ahead of him, and he lags a little behind, just to take in the view, to take in the new sights. Lights spread around the buildings like fireflies, and even if all he sees are quick snapshots, he still appreciates the detailed architecture. The people on the sidewalk barely catch his eye, save for the special one or two cases, where they could be wearing a shirt he'd been eying on the store windows or they were a girl he fleetingly thinks of as pretty.
So when the car in front of him pulls to a stop, his instincts kick in and he's pulling on the brakes as hard as he can, creating the proverbial you almost fucked up screeching of tires. He swears loudly within the helmet, "Shit!", and then he angrily pulls it off his head, glaring daggers at Shamal's bumper (it's a dangerous inch closer to scratching his Brutale's frame), as if he isn't the one at fault here.
Shamal steps out of the car while Gokudera's too busy glaring at something that'll never fight back, but he gets that feeling of someone's watching him. He tilts his head up and catches that look on the other man's face, that familiar half-smile, half-sigh that tells him Shamal knows he messed up. It's not like he even has the chance to save face, because Shamal's already inside the apartment before he could say anything. Curling his lips into a snarl, he abandons his motorcyle and heads inside as well.
"Close the door, will you?" is what he hears first.
And he doesn't know why, but that just sets something off inside him.
Everything he learned back at Boccadasse at the old lady's living room comes rushing back in waves, and then he just-
He punches him. Square in the face. Crazy look in his eyes, fist tightly clenched, teeth gritted, heart beating like drums, and there's a part where his breath gets caught up in his throat. It's only when Shamal staggers back a little and shoots him an incredulous, what the fuck do you think you're doing?!, kind of look that he stays locked in whatever it is that came over him.
Maybe it's rage.
Maybe it's anger.
Maybe it's everything in between.
Or maybe it's everything at once.
"Why the fuck didn't you tell me you were with her?!"
Shamal wipes off the small trace of blood on his lips, keeping his eyes trained on Gokudera's form with an expression no one would be able to read. His fingers run through his hair again, a habit he always does whenever he doesn't feel like talking, Gokudera mentally notes, and shrugs. "You shouldn't really pry."
Gokudera isn't satisfied with this answer. As a matter of fact, it makes him bristle up even more. "Fuck you! Give me a fucking reason."
There's another sigh; it's more exasperated this time. "Anger is so ugly on a man's face," comments Shamal, languidly turning his back on Gokudera, right hand in a pocket. "It's even worse when it's on yours."
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
Shamal shifts his angle so Gokudera could see his profile break into a slight grin. A grin that's neither happy nor sad, but it's a grin nonetheless. One that knows, one that doesn't want to share. "I don't have to tell you."
By then, Gokudera can't take it anymore.
His body snaps forward and crashes into Shamal's, pinning him against the nearest wall. Hands curl into fists around the man's collar, and he's baring his teeth, eyes narrowed into furious near-slits. Their faces are close, way too close, but Gokudera wants Shamal to hear this, because he isn't sure he can raise his voice anymore. "I'll give you three seconds, asshole," he growls, every syllable dripping with acidic threats. "Give me a reason or I'll fucking kill you."
"Have fun with that."
So three, two, one-
But nothing happens.
Gokudera's grip on Shamal's collar is slowly slackening, that mad rush finally leaving him just as quickly as it took over. Little by little, one finger after another, until he completely lets go, but he doesn't move away from the other man. Not yet. Not while he still has something to say, something he doesn't want to say out loud, but just murmur it, like a lost thing, a lost thought.
"Did you kill her?"
"Hayato," and it's Shamal who pushes him away. "You're asking stupid questions. Why don't you use your head a little?"
"Yes or no?"
"I'm not in the mood for this, brat." Maybe he's getting angry too. "Figure it out yourself."
It's the last thing Gokudera hears from Shamal before he gets shoved outside the apartment, door slamming shut in his face. He almost laughs at the déjà vu.
It really isn't funny.
The next time Shamal opens the door is when the sun is conveniently way up in the sky. Gokudera hasn't moved an inch from the small corner of the front steps he claimed last night, dead cigarettes littered all around him. He's even smoking the nth one that day. They're pretty much the ones that kept him up all night, because you can only entertain yourself for so long with counting how many leaves are on Shamal's bushes before you get bored enough that you'd just want to ram your head against the wall over and over again. It's a pointless thought, so Gokudera moves on.
"You know you could have gotten yourself killed out here, you crazy brat," is his wake-up call, the thing that snaps him out of his half-aware state. He cranes his neck to look up at Shamal, greeting him back with the customary fuck you. Shamal rolls his eyes and steps aside, "Come in," being the only thing he tells him.
It takes Gokudera's brain a few minutes to register that, but once it clicks, he gets up. His movements are a bit sluggish due to the small haze of sleep that threatens to make him keel over on the floor, so he shakes his head in an attempt to fight it off. Not that it really does him any good, because he doesn't even realize that he's being led to sit down on the couch until he could already feel the leather support his weight. He blinks.
"Did you even sleep?"
"No."
"You know you won't get yourself a lady friend when you look like you shoved yourself in a barrel and went joyriding in it."
"Shut up." And then this, as an added afterthought, "That wasn't even funny."
"Damn," Shamal laments, but it sounds a bit too playfully for Gokudera to take it seriously, "I figured you were gone enough to not notice."
"Fuck you," because it's his answer to everything, "Just admit you're shitty when it comes to this."
They fall into an awkward pause, where tension starts to unravel things they have to talk about, things Gokudera wants to say, wants to ask, but can't bring himself to. He doesn't have a reason for it; just that there's something stopping him. Not that he knows what it is, even now when he thinks about it. Or maybe he does know, but he just doesn't want to admit it.
Not yet.
Thankfully, it's Shamal who speaks first.
"So what happened, Hayato? I'm all ears."
And Gokudera spills everything in one go.
He tells him about how he killed the Spizaeto Don, the man he hates, the man he can live without, the man he still calls his father-it was a single bullet to the back of the head, shot through and through. Never saw it coming; never had a chance. He tells him about how his two informants sold him to the Gambino family, how they were after his head now, because they wanted him dead, rotting, and out of their sight. And then there was Bianchi's warning, which pushed him to call the Tenth just to let him know he wasn't coming back (yet, he reminds himself, not yet) because he had to run, had to hide. And now, it was about Genoa, the attack on the rooftop, the part where Dino came in and told him about Boccadasse, where he met the old lady, the old lady who told him things he never even heard about.
Things that led him here, talking about all the events in connect-the-dot format, because he didn't know what else he could do.
It doesn't even occur to him that he's been reacting to everything on auto-pilot, without thinking, because when did Gokudera ever think? Certainly not when it mattered, like right here, right now. Shamal looks like he must have realized this, not that Gokudera makes the connection, because he's too preoccupied with glaring at the carpeted floor, too pissed off at himself, too proud to even say that he realizes he maybe kind of needs some help.
But before he can ask, Shamal beats him to it: "What happens next?"
"-what?"
"What are you going to do next?" There's some weight to certain words, going instead of planning, do instead of think. And that's when it all clicks, one after the other. There's a pattern to everything he did (kill, run, kill again, run again, fight, run, find information, chase, learn more-), and Shamal must have seen through all this already, and that thought makes Gokudera hate himself even more. It was right there in front of him, right there, but it took him this long to find it-fuck-because he never thought about it until now. You would think after all these years he would have learned to just stop and think, to pause everything and rewind, just so he can take it all in again in slow motion, where he wouldn't miss a beat and swerve off the whole picture entirely.
But he's like an old dog that can never learn new tricks.
Too slow, too stupid.
Too blind to everything he does.
And all he can say at this point is one angry, "Shit!"
Shamal watches him from the side, sees the way his brows furrow together as he glowers some more, and maybe there's a flash of sympathy in his eyes for a split-second, a flash Gokudera never sees. "Think it over," he says, before leaving his spot on the couch to head for the kitchen.
Gokudera does, tries to, but he doesn't get all that far. The only realization he ends up with is the one where he doesn't know what the fuck he's supposed to do. What happens next, where will he go-he never thinks that far. He did everything he did, because it felt like the right thing to do, not because he actually thought things through. And maybe that's his problem here, his fatal flaw, the Achilles' heel to all his genius. He's realizing this now, right now, when he's buried in too deep with consequences that will maybe, most likely, kill him someday-shit.
Shit.
He doesn't look up when he blurts out, "What do I do?", with his teeth gritted together, seething with self-hatred, because of how stupid this is, how lost he is, and how hard it is to even ask for the help he really needs now. "What should I do?" Because I'm too blind to see what's right in front of me, so just give me that tiny bit of guidance. A small hint to what I should really be looking for.
But all he hears from Shamal is, "You have everything you need, Hayato. Use your head."
It's not the answer he's looking for, but it's the answer he expected. Shamal never made things easy for him, even when he needed it the most, even when he had to step on his pride repeatedly to seek out his help, because-and this is how Gokudera convinces himself he's better off without the old man-he's a useless asshole. Fuck you.
"Alright, whatever! I don't need your help anyway," is an outright lie, so who is he kidding, "but-at least-" he considers begging, but decides against it in the end "-just tell me what happened that day?"
From the corner of his eyes, he can see that Shamal's still in the kitchen, rummaging through the own cupboards, for something, maybe more alcohol knowing him. It's probably the only thing he keeps in there-the only reason why he'd bother using the storage space. Once Shamal pulls out a bottle of gin, thus proving Gokudera's point, he tosses a look over at his direction. "I suppose I do owe you that much, since you're already here and all."
Gokudera doesn't even bother to reply.
There was a flutter of laughter that came from one of the rooms, a laughter so sweet, so light, and so disarming that it was enough to tell him who it belonged to. A smooth grin broke his usually pokerfaced expression, delicious thoughts (he was allowed to call them delicious, right?) skirting across his mind like scandalous pieces of gossip. He knew who he came here for, knew what he wanted to do, so he marched right on, everything on his person (suit, tie, and a bouquet jasmines) undoubtedly presented in their best appearance and manner-even he was counting on himself to remain in his best behaviour.
It didn't take him long to reach the room he was after, and upon reaching it, he stood by the door frame and casually leaned against it. The resounding sound of a throat clearing playfully echoed in the small room, its occupants' chitters and chatters immediately ceasing as all their eyes fell on him, which made his grin shift into a satisfied smirk. He raised one hand, half-heartedly waved, and tipped his head in a small nod-his small signs of acknowledgement.
"A good day to all of you, kittens," he greeted, the smirk never leaving his face. "Is it alright if I steal my little angel," and there was a wink sent down the direction of the only one with iridescent silver hair, "for a short while? I promise I won't take too long."
The room bubbled with a chorus of giggles, and some of the girls even whispered words he couldn't hear to the one he called angel, which made him smile even more. Women like them were always a curious thing to watch when they were a flock, a flock of pretty birds waiting to be caged in by the right choice of words, but that wasn't his main intention. Not today, no. For today, all he wanted was the lady that just took his offered hand, the lady he led away from the room and into a part of the hallway where no one would be able to overhear anything that was said.
She was wearing that gentle smile, the smile he fell in love with at first sight (not that he would ever admit it), and it brightened up her face, brightened up the area, when he gave her the flowers he handpicked (and lovingly took care of, but this was another secret to keep) himself.
"What did I do to deserve these beautiful flowers, Mister Shamal?" Always so polite and demure; it wasn't usually his style, but there was something about her that stood out, reeled him in without so much of a struggle.
"By being you," he answered truthfully, reaching in to brush a stray lock of hair away from her eyes.
But he never touched her.
She laughed like she always did, gently and tenderly, moving a step back, away from Shamal's reach. The smile on her face seemed a bit sheepish, apologetic almost, but it shifted into her usual kind one as soon as she fixed her hair herself. It made Shamal reel his hand back in, curled into a fist, head tilting downwards with an understanding (disappointed as well, perhaps?) grin.
"Do you like them?"
"I love them."
"I'm glad to hear it."
A pause in their conversation, but it was because she took the time to appreciate the jasmines' fragrance. Shamal was watching her in silence, and when she looked up with a grateful smile, he could only smile back.
"And now that I have your flowers, will you be leaving me?"
It was the kind of question that would make any amateur charmer panic a little on the inside, because something like that usually meant their lady love was no longer interested and wanted you out of their sight. But this was Shamal, the one whose current number of successes laid somewhere in the one-thousand range, so he picked up what she was trying to say with no problem whatsoever.
Maybe the message had been made as a friendly gesture, and Shamal knew this, realized this, but his answer was still as honest as ever: "Today is one of those days when I can see you without having to share you. How could I leave your presence so soon, angel?"
She was laughing again (he could listen to that all day long), more amused if any, but she didn't say a word.
So Shamal had to ask, "What? Was it something I said?"
"No. Of course not." She shook her head. "I just thought it was simply endearing of you to say that."
He looked confused for the moment. "Endearing?"
Not that she offered to make this any easier (that fiend, Shamal mentally thought with an impressed grin), because all she told him was this: "I'll let you unravel that yourself, Mister Shamal. Especially since you're so fond of puzzles and things, yes?"
"-hold on a second! Were you flirting with her?"
"Ah, there it is. Was I?"
"I asked you a question!"
But Shamal isn't about to grace that with a straight answer. "Hayato, if you haven't noticed, your mother was a woman. Now unless she had been the ugliest fuck in the world, which she wasn't, there was no way I wouldn't have laid my eyes on her."
"Why you-!!"
"Do you want to question my taste in women, or do you want to hear the rest of it?"
"... Fuck you."
He was just standing there in the middle of the hallway, a half-smile on his face. "Leaving so soon?" It had the same tone, the same message she had given him earlier; can't you find an excuse to stay?
But she only smiled at him. "Five days ago was a special day for the Don's son. I was unable to be there due to certain circumstances, so I'm making up for that today." There was a neatly wrapped present in her hands, while the bouquet lay discarded on a centerpiece vase on the dining table. "I haven't seen Hayato for months now-I really miss him."
"Of course you do." And maybe there was more to what he was saying than what anyone could pick up on the surface. He knew what was going to happen once she left, but all of his attempts to stall for more time were futile. So a thwarted grin graced his features as he said, "Foiled by a dumb brat."
She turned to face him, and showed him a sympathetic smile. "Don't say that," she soothed, "There's always tomorrow if you'll miss me that much."
Shamal almost laughed at this, but he couldn't bring himself to go through with it. "I guess so."
And then there was that flash of concern, an expression he didn't really want to see, because it meant this was bothering him more than it should. "Is something the matter, Mister Shamal?"
He tried to quell her worries with a smile.
If you knew the one you loved was going to die, then the right thing to do was to tell them, save them. But this wasn't about right or wrong, not to him, at least. He couldn't even mix what he felt in this whole mess either, because that wasn't how things worked, that wasn't what he learned, what he lived with. It was an obligation-to who he was, what he was.
But still, the smile remained. A wink or two was even thrown in there. "If there was something the matter, would it be enough to convince you to stay with me?"
(Say yes-)
All it did was make her laugh again. "I almost fell for that one, Mister Shamal, but I'm afraid you've had your share-" at this, she even giggled "-of me. There's always tomorrow, like I've said." One last smile, one last look, last few words. "Please take care."
Shamal couldn't even look away.
"What-that's it? You just let her go?"
Shamal doesn't answer as he pours himself another glass of gin. He toys with the clear liquid a bit, lets it swirl around within its container, before downing it in one go. When he's done, he puts the glass back on the counter, lets one shoulder lift up and down in a half-shrug. "You heard me."
Gokudera can't even begin to understand what just happened. There he is, still on Shamal's couch, digesting a story that was just thrown at him with nothing else attached. He's trying to organize his thoughts, but all that does is mess them up even more, make him even more confused than he already is. Maybe saying it out loud will help, not that he thinks it really would, but he has no other option, "So you-went to her house, flirted with her, and stood there and watched as she drove off to her death? Do you honestly expect me to believe that?"
A ghost of a smile plays with the curve of Shamal's lips. "Weren't you listening, Hayato?"
This bewilders him a little, because he did listen, but now he's here, trying to look for the hidden meanings, the little things Shamal would always leave for him to pick up if he ever sits down long enough to think about it-except his search comes up empty, fruitless. When Shamal doesn't want to share, Gokudera knows that you would have to turn over every single rock and mountain to find what you've been looking for, but even then, who knows if that's the bit of truth you're after? He's known him for years, but he isn't any closer to figuring out the way he works.
So the only coherent reply he can come up with is, "Of course I was! I listened to every bit of it! But what I don't get is-if you knew she was going to die, why did you just-why did you just let her go?!" He's shouting by the end of it, shaking with mild rage that's continually growing. He doesn't even understand why he's so angry, because he knows the mafia never blended well with sentimentality, but he still finds himself asking, "Didn't you care enough?"
Just because he wants to hear something else other than I let her go.
He counted the minutes, the seconds, that passed by after she left, going by the tick-tock ticking madness of the wall clock. There was a set time when it was going to happen, and it was eight minutes past ten now, where the hands look their best. Not that he was quite sure where he learned that, but it was something about the angles, the degrees of inclination where it was two ticks away from perfect symmetry, that tried to convey a message he couldn't decipher. But it wasn't like it mattered, because like everything else, the hands moved on, tick-tocked their way into ten minutes past ten, and-
And like everything else, Shamal moved on too.
There was a nagging thought in the back of his mind, wondering about whether or not he did the right thing, but no, he told himself, this had never been about right or wrong. It was how things were supposed to go, supposed to be, especially considering his lifestyle. A mafioso hitman, born and bred to kill and love, love and kill, but there was a fine print attached to every contract: never get close, never get involved.
"Ah, this is troublesome," Shamal sighs, as he moves away from the kitchen and heads over to where Gokudera is seated. "You should be out there looking for a woman that will take you in as her husband or boy-toy, Hayato. Not prying into other people's business." He grabs him by the collar, pulls him up to his feet, and starts pushing him towards the door-same routine as last night-but Gokudera fights back this time, making it harder for him to be budged off the spot. It's annoying Shamal quite a bit, made obvious by the subtle way his eyes are narrowed and look a bit colder than they usually do, but Gokudera won't waver.
Not yet. Don't kick me out just yet.
"Wait-" because this is most likely his last chance to learn more "-just tell me one last thing." A frown settles on his lips, but he doesn't know why. "When she-when she played the piano-was she beautiful?" Even to him, this question is way too out of the blue to be taken seriously, but there it is anyway. He even has no idea why he's asking Shamal himself, but this man (as perverted and juvenile he could be sometimes) is his last remaining tie to his mother. Sure, there's the old lady back at Boccadasse, but Shamal knew her, knew her well enough to even flirt with her (Gokudera still feels like punching him for this one), and that's a big enough of a connection, really. To Gokudera, at least.
"... Because I can't remember."
Her fingers were long and slender, graceful, just like her, and the way they moved across the black and white keys was too fluid to be real. There was a kind of ethereal magic to it, one that could lull you into a trance and render you unable to resist its charms, but it wasn't like he ever resisted it in the first place. He stood there and watched her, listened to her play a song he never heard of before, taking it all in because this was the only time for him to be a little greedy, because it was a song for him, from her, and he couldn't get enough of it-and it wasn't even enough to stop him from craving for more.
It was a brash move on his part, but his limbs were moving before he could stop himself. In one moment, he was beside her, his hand reaching out to take one of hers in its grip, disrupting the music, disrupting the flow. He didn't stop to think; it was all action, all motion, all about the beating of his heart that wasn't telling him to stop.
But in the end, all he did was plant a simple kiss to the back of her hand.
He held back at the last moment, but he knew he broke something with what just happened. It didn't take a genius of his calibre to understand this, because all she had to do was pull her hand away and let him go.
It was the last time she played for him, and the first time he saw her without a smile.
For a brief moment, Gokudera thinks he sees a flicker of pity in the way Shamal looks at him and almost lets him go-until he reminds himself Shamal isn't really the type of person to even know the meaning of that word. This is further proven by the fact that Shamal just tightens his grip on him and puts all the effort in kicking him out of the house again. He tries to get the last word in, but Shamal cuts him off with a blunt, "You're wasting your time chasing ghosts, when you have real people after you." The smile on his face is clearly condescending now. "Didn't I just tell you to use your head, Hayato?"
And then the next thing Gokudera's looking at is the closed door in front of him. He contemplates getting the last word in, something along the lines of Well, screw you, old man!, but he disregards it and gets on his Brutale without thinking of anything else. It purrs when he starts it up, and then growls like it always does as he speeds off, to somewhere else that isn't here, that isn't anywhere near the man that could have told him everything, but didn't.
He doesn't even look back.
"You know, he's going to kill you someday."
It was a casual remark, a mere prediction that both men knew would come true whenever the presently eight-year-old Gokudera Hayato decided to grow up, let himself be manipulated some more by things he would never think about (it was a quirk of his, Shamal mused, a fatal quirk), and be led to believe he was taking matters into his own hands. Shamal understood this completely, and that was why he was here; perhaps to question the method to the Spizaeto Don's madness, because he knew there was an underlying blueprint of events that would one day rule their lives.
Or maybe it already was set in motion, and Shamal was just too blind to realize.
There was a lazy grin on his lips, while a fat cigar was burning on the other man's lips. They looked as if they were just enjoying each other's company from an outsider's point of view, made all the more friendly by the arrangement of teacups and biscuits and other miscellaneous pastries presented in front of them. If only they could hear what was being said, what was being discussed, then maybe they would have thought otherwise.
The Don laughed easily and without weight. "Of course. I'm well aware of it."
Shamal's grin widened a little, and made another comment like, "You had it all planned." It was meant to be a question, but it turned into a statement near the end. Maybe because Shamal was beginning to realize it himself.
"Not quite. Things just fell into place. Consequences are funny little things, aren't they?"
And Shamal laughed, wearing a man-of-the-world smile as he connected everything from dot to dot. There was a clever irony to all of this. It was his second chance to do things differently, to maybe make up for that one mistake he regretted, albeit fleetingly, but regretted nonetheless.
His second chance-
But the ending had already been decided.
title. (un)FINISHED.
genre. General/Drama.
rating. PG13.
characters. Gokudera Hayato, Bianchi, Dino Cavallone, Trident Shamal, Mommy!dera, and Daddy!dera; Katekyo Hitman REBORN!
warnings. Watch out for Gokudera's mouth. Gratuitous ... epic backstory-making. Yes.
wordcount. ... haha. 11591.
notes. Ah, there's a lot of filling in the blanks going on in this story (besides, I've been wanting to write something about Gokudera's mom anyway), but it was a whole lot of fun writing it all out. NOT THAT I EVEN REMEMBER WHAT I WROTE LMAO. I still need to reread this properly ffff. But anyway, hehe_05 was my artist for this fic, but she hasn't finished the piece yet. It'll be up pretty soon, haha. /o -- man, it didn't even fit in one post wtf lmfao. Also, this is written for the KHR Minibang 2008. 8Db
disclaimer. Bodies, limbs, thoughts, &things aren't mine. I just pull the strings &stay on the sidelines, 'cause that's where the puppeteer belongs when her dolls are strutting all over the stage.
synopsis. Consequences are funny little things, aren't they?
PG13 | ASSASSINATION ATTEMPTS | 5872
The truth is a funny thing. Sometimes it hurts, sometimes it doesn't, and sometimes it just confuses the fuck out of you until you run out of options. But it takes its toll, just like everything else, sinks its claws deep inside of you-it'll never let you go. When Gokudera found out that the lady whose name he never learned was actually his mother, he did the only thing a child of his age could do: run away from it. But it hung around like a perpetual black cloud, dampening his outlook on life and everyone else that wasn't him.
Of course, things are different now, and he has the Tenth, and maybe that bastard of a baseball freak too, and that stupid woman, and-and everyone else, much to his dismay, to thank for it (not that he'd ever admit this to anyone other than the Tenth). But when he learns about things like Shamal may have had a part in the death of your mother, then what is he supposed to do? There's always that option of ignoring it, just like he did sixteen years ago, and he even considered this one too, but to revert back to to having that black cloud around him isn't something he really wants anymore.
Not after everything.
So now there's option two.
And this involves hunting down the very bastard that just messed up the story he lived with for the rest of his life.
Up until now, anyway.
He learns from Dino that Shamal is currently situated in Milan, one the largest cities in this godforsaken country, where fashion is everyone's lifeline, the heartbeat that keeps them in motion, breathing, alive. It seems bizarre to him that Shamal would pick such a place to live in, when Venice would have made more sense (where the one-night-stand kind of romance is always an option) and would have catered to his needs better, but it's not a thought he cares a lot about to spend too much time thinking about. Not when he has other things in mind, other things that need answers.
It takes him a while to track Shamal down-whoever said it was easy to look for a trail of broken hearts was out of their mind-but he finds him after the thirteenth bar. The bastard's completely wasted, as far as Gokudera can tell, because he's trying to put the moves on a classic lady in red, only to get slapped because she already has a lady in black to keep her in company. Gokudera sees that split-second confusion flash across Shamal's face, and then there's that moment of delight as he attempts to sling his arms around both of the women's shoulders, to bring them closer to him, saying something akin to three's never a crowd, right, kittens?
Gokudera decides this is the best time to move.
He weaves his way through the bar's crowd, settling himself behind Shamal, because both sides are already preoccupied by the two women who are desperately trying to shove him off. Shamal's laughing, but it dies down when he gradually takes notice of Gokudera's presence behind him, tilting his head backwards to dazzle him with a smile, only to have it collapse once he realizes who it is.
"We need to talk." Straight to the point, as always.
"I'm a little busy~" The sing-song tone in Shamal's voice is suave enough to make it sound like he's serious about this. "Can't it wait?"
"No. Hurry up. Or else I'll make a scene and ruin your reputation for life."
It's a threat that has a sharp and don't-fuck-with-me edge to it, a threat that makes Shamal take one look at him again, before sighing and letting the two ladies go with a sigh. He pulls himself to his feet, flashes one last smile, and bids them good night, narrowly avoiding their incoming assault via their purses.
Both men head for the exit, and Shamal has to ask, "Well? What's so important that you have to drag me away like this?"
Gokudera ignores that. "Where's your place?"
"Hmm? Hayato, you know I don't swing that way-"
And this is where Gokudera loses his temper a little, "I'm fucking serious, old man!"
Another sigh, another look at him, and then Shamal finally says, "Got a ride?"
"Yeah."
"Then don't lose sight of me."
Milan is a gorgeous thing to watch at night, even if it's a not-quite-panoramic view made possible by riding his Brutale on the city streets. Shamal is right ahead of him, and he lags a little behind, just to take in the view, to take in the new sights. Lights spread around the buildings like fireflies, and even if all he sees are quick snapshots, he still appreciates the detailed architecture. The people on the sidewalk barely catch his eye, save for the special one or two cases, where they could be wearing a shirt he'd been eying on the store windows or they were a girl he fleetingly thinks of as pretty.
So when the car in front of him pulls to a stop, his instincts kick in and he's pulling on the brakes as hard as he can, creating the proverbial you almost fucked up screeching of tires. He swears loudly within the helmet, "Shit!", and then he angrily pulls it off his head, glaring daggers at Shamal's bumper (it's a dangerous inch closer to scratching his Brutale's frame), as if he isn't the one at fault here.
Shamal steps out of the car while Gokudera's too busy glaring at something that'll never fight back, but he gets that feeling of someone's watching him. He tilts his head up and catches that look on the other man's face, that familiar half-smile, half-sigh that tells him Shamal knows he messed up. It's not like he even has the chance to save face, because Shamal's already inside the apartment before he could say anything. Curling his lips into a snarl, he abandons his motorcyle and heads inside as well.
"Close the door, will you?" is what he hears first.
And he doesn't know why, but that just sets something off inside him.
Everything he learned back at Boccadasse at the old lady's living room comes rushing back in waves, and then he just-
He punches him. Square in the face. Crazy look in his eyes, fist tightly clenched, teeth gritted, heart beating like drums, and there's a part where his breath gets caught up in his throat. It's only when Shamal staggers back a little and shoots him an incredulous, what the fuck do you think you're doing?!, kind of look that he stays locked in whatever it is that came over him.
Maybe it's rage.
Maybe it's anger.
Maybe it's everything in between.
Or maybe it's everything at once.
"Why the fuck didn't you tell me you were with her?!"
Shamal wipes off the small trace of blood on his lips, keeping his eyes trained on Gokudera's form with an expression no one would be able to read. His fingers run through his hair again, a habit he always does whenever he doesn't feel like talking, Gokudera mentally notes, and shrugs. "You shouldn't really pry."
Gokudera isn't satisfied with this answer. As a matter of fact, it makes him bristle up even more. "Fuck you! Give me a fucking reason."
There's another sigh; it's more exasperated this time. "Anger is so ugly on a man's face," comments Shamal, languidly turning his back on Gokudera, right hand in a pocket. "It's even worse when it's on yours."
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
Shamal shifts his angle so Gokudera could see his profile break into a slight grin. A grin that's neither happy nor sad, but it's a grin nonetheless. One that knows, one that doesn't want to share. "I don't have to tell you."
By then, Gokudera can't take it anymore.
His body snaps forward and crashes into Shamal's, pinning him against the nearest wall. Hands curl into fists around the man's collar, and he's baring his teeth, eyes narrowed into furious near-slits. Their faces are close, way too close, but Gokudera wants Shamal to hear this, because he isn't sure he can raise his voice anymore. "I'll give you three seconds, asshole," he growls, every syllable dripping with acidic threats. "Give me a reason or I'll fucking kill you."
"Have fun with that."
So three, two, one-
But nothing happens.
Gokudera's grip on Shamal's collar is slowly slackening, that mad rush finally leaving him just as quickly as it took over. Little by little, one finger after another, until he completely lets go, but he doesn't move away from the other man. Not yet. Not while he still has something to say, something he doesn't want to say out loud, but just murmur it, like a lost thing, a lost thought.
"Did you kill her?"
"Hayato," and it's Shamal who pushes him away. "You're asking stupid questions. Why don't you use your head a little?"
"Yes or no?"
"I'm not in the mood for this, brat." Maybe he's getting angry too. "Figure it out yourself."
It's the last thing Gokudera hears from Shamal before he gets shoved outside the apartment, door slamming shut in his face. He almost laughs at the déjà vu.
It really isn't funny.
The next time Shamal opens the door is when the sun is conveniently way up in the sky. Gokudera hasn't moved an inch from the small corner of the front steps he claimed last night, dead cigarettes littered all around him. He's even smoking the nth one that day. They're pretty much the ones that kept him up all night, because you can only entertain yourself for so long with counting how many leaves are on Shamal's bushes before you get bored enough that you'd just want to ram your head against the wall over and over again. It's a pointless thought, so Gokudera moves on.
"You know you could have gotten yourself killed out here, you crazy brat," is his wake-up call, the thing that snaps him out of his half-aware state. He cranes his neck to look up at Shamal, greeting him back with the customary fuck you. Shamal rolls his eyes and steps aside, "Come in," being the only thing he tells him.
It takes Gokudera's brain a few minutes to register that, but once it clicks, he gets up. His movements are a bit sluggish due to the small haze of sleep that threatens to make him keel over on the floor, so he shakes his head in an attempt to fight it off. Not that it really does him any good, because he doesn't even realize that he's being led to sit down on the couch until he could already feel the leather support his weight. He blinks.
"Did you even sleep?"
"No."
"You know you won't get yourself a lady friend when you look like you shoved yourself in a barrel and went joyriding in it."
"Shut up." And then this, as an added afterthought, "That wasn't even funny."
"Damn," Shamal laments, but it sounds a bit too playfully for Gokudera to take it seriously, "I figured you were gone enough to not notice."
"Fuck you," because it's his answer to everything, "Just admit you're shitty when it comes to this."
They fall into an awkward pause, where tension starts to unravel things they have to talk about, things Gokudera wants to say, wants to ask, but can't bring himself to. He doesn't have a reason for it; just that there's something stopping him. Not that he knows what it is, even now when he thinks about it. Or maybe he does know, but he just doesn't want to admit it.
Not yet.
Thankfully, it's Shamal who speaks first.
"So what happened, Hayato? I'm all ears."
And Gokudera spills everything in one go.
He tells him about how he killed the Spizaeto Don, the man he hates, the man he can live without, the man he still calls his father-it was a single bullet to the back of the head, shot through and through. Never saw it coming; never had a chance. He tells him about how his two informants sold him to the Gambino family, how they were after his head now, because they wanted him dead, rotting, and out of their sight. And then there was Bianchi's warning, which pushed him to call the Tenth just to let him know he wasn't coming back (yet, he reminds himself, not yet) because he had to run, had to hide. And now, it was about Genoa, the attack on the rooftop, the part where Dino came in and told him about Boccadasse, where he met the old lady, the old lady who told him things he never even heard about.
Things that led him here, talking about all the events in connect-the-dot format, because he didn't know what else he could do.
It doesn't even occur to him that he's been reacting to everything on auto-pilot, without thinking, because when did Gokudera ever think? Certainly not when it mattered, like right here, right now. Shamal looks like he must have realized this, not that Gokudera makes the connection, because he's too preoccupied with glaring at the carpeted floor, too pissed off at himself, too proud to even say that he realizes he maybe kind of needs some help.
But before he can ask, Shamal beats him to it: "What happens next?"
"-what?"
"What are you going to do next?" There's some weight to certain words, going instead of planning, do instead of think. And that's when it all clicks, one after the other. There's a pattern to everything he did (kill, run, kill again, run again, fight, run, find information, chase, learn more-), and Shamal must have seen through all this already, and that thought makes Gokudera hate himself even more. It was right there in front of him, right there, but it took him this long to find it-fuck-because he never thought about it until now. You would think after all these years he would have learned to just stop and think, to pause everything and rewind, just so he can take it all in again in slow motion, where he wouldn't miss a beat and swerve off the whole picture entirely.
But he's like an old dog that can never learn new tricks.
Too slow, too stupid.
Too blind to everything he does.
And all he can say at this point is one angry, "Shit!"
Shamal watches him from the side, sees the way his brows furrow together as he glowers some more, and maybe there's a flash of sympathy in his eyes for a split-second, a flash Gokudera never sees. "Think it over," he says, before leaving his spot on the couch to head for the kitchen.
Gokudera does, tries to, but he doesn't get all that far. The only realization he ends up with is the one where he doesn't know what the fuck he's supposed to do. What happens next, where will he go-he never thinks that far. He did everything he did, because it felt like the right thing to do, not because he actually thought things through. And maybe that's his problem here, his fatal flaw, the Achilles' heel to all his genius. He's realizing this now, right now, when he's buried in too deep with consequences that will maybe, most likely, kill him someday-shit.
Shit.
He doesn't look up when he blurts out, "What do I do?", with his teeth gritted together, seething with self-hatred, because of how stupid this is, how lost he is, and how hard it is to even ask for the help he really needs now. "What should I do?" Because I'm too blind to see what's right in front of me, so just give me that tiny bit of guidance. A small hint to what I should really be looking for.
But all he hears from Shamal is, "You have everything you need, Hayato. Use your head."
It's not the answer he's looking for, but it's the answer he expected. Shamal never made things easy for him, even when he needed it the most, even when he had to step on his pride repeatedly to seek out his help, because-and this is how Gokudera convinces himself he's better off without the old man-he's a useless asshole. Fuck you.
"Alright, whatever! I don't need your help anyway," is an outright lie, so who is he kidding, "but-at least-" he considers begging, but decides against it in the end "-just tell me what happened that day?"
From the corner of his eyes, he can see that Shamal's still in the kitchen, rummaging through the own cupboards, for something, maybe more alcohol knowing him. It's probably the only thing he keeps in there-the only reason why he'd bother using the storage space. Once Shamal pulls out a bottle of gin, thus proving Gokudera's point, he tosses a look over at his direction. "I suppose I do owe you that much, since you're already here and all."
Gokudera doesn't even bother to reply.
There was a flutter of laughter that came from one of the rooms, a laughter so sweet, so light, and so disarming that it was enough to tell him who it belonged to. A smooth grin broke his usually pokerfaced expression, delicious thoughts (he was allowed to call them delicious, right?) skirting across his mind like scandalous pieces of gossip. He knew who he came here for, knew what he wanted to do, so he marched right on, everything on his person (suit, tie, and a bouquet jasmines) undoubtedly presented in their best appearance and manner-even he was counting on himself to remain in his best behaviour.
It didn't take him long to reach the room he was after, and upon reaching it, he stood by the door frame and casually leaned against it. The resounding sound of a throat clearing playfully echoed in the small room, its occupants' chitters and chatters immediately ceasing as all their eyes fell on him, which made his grin shift into a satisfied smirk. He raised one hand, half-heartedly waved, and tipped his head in a small nod-his small signs of acknowledgement.
"A good day to all of you, kittens," he greeted, the smirk never leaving his face. "Is it alright if I steal my little angel," and there was a wink sent down the direction of the only one with iridescent silver hair, "for a short while? I promise I won't take too long."
The room bubbled with a chorus of giggles, and some of the girls even whispered words he couldn't hear to the one he called angel, which made him smile even more. Women like them were always a curious thing to watch when they were a flock, a flock of pretty birds waiting to be caged in by the right choice of words, but that wasn't his main intention. Not today, no. For today, all he wanted was the lady that just took his offered hand, the lady he led away from the room and into a part of the hallway where no one would be able to overhear anything that was said.
She was wearing that gentle smile, the smile he fell in love with at first sight (not that he would ever admit it), and it brightened up her face, brightened up the area, when he gave her the flowers he handpicked (and lovingly took care of, but this was another secret to keep) himself.
"What did I do to deserve these beautiful flowers, Mister Shamal?" Always so polite and demure; it wasn't usually his style, but there was something about her that stood out, reeled him in without so much of a struggle.
"By being you," he answered truthfully, reaching in to brush a stray lock of hair away from her eyes.
But he never touched her.
She laughed like she always did, gently and tenderly, moving a step back, away from Shamal's reach. The smile on her face seemed a bit sheepish, apologetic almost, but it shifted into her usual kind one as soon as she fixed her hair herself. It made Shamal reel his hand back in, curled into a fist, head tilting downwards with an understanding (disappointed as well, perhaps?) grin.
"Do you like them?"
"I love them."
"I'm glad to hear it."
A pause in their conversation, but it was because she took the time to appreciate the jasmines' fragrance. Shamal was watching her in silence, and when she looked up with a grateful smile, he could only smile back.
"And now that I have your flowers, will you be leaving me?"
It was the kind of question that would make any amateur charmer panic a little on the inside, because something like that usually meant their lady love was no longer interested and wanted you out of their sight. But this was Shamal, the one whose current number of successes laid somewhere in the one-thousand range, so he picked up what she was trying to say with no problem whatsoever.
Maybe the message had been made as a friendly gesture, and Shamal knew this, realized this, but his answer was still as honest as ever: "Today is one of those days when I can see you without having to share you. How could I leave your presence so soon, angel?"
She was laughing again (he could listen to that all day long), more amused if any, but she didn't say a word.
So Shamal had to ask, "What? Was it something I said?"
"No. Of course not." She shook her head. "I just thought it was simply endearing of you to say that."
He looked confused for the moment. "Endearing?"
Not that she offered to make this any easier (that fiend, Shamal mentally thought with an impressed grin), because all she told him was this: "I'll let you unravel that yourself, Mister Shamal. Especially since you're so fond of puzzles and things, yes?"
"-hold on a second! Were you flirting with her?"
"Ah, there it is. Was I?"
"I asked you a question!"
But Shamal isn't about to grace that with a straight answer. "Hayato, if you haven't noticed, your mother was a woman. Now unless she had been the ugliest fuck in the world, which she wasn't, there was no way I wouldn't have laid my eyes on her."
"Why you-!!"
"Do you want to question my taste in women, or do you want to hear the rest of it?"
"... Fuck you."
He was just standing there in the middle of the hallway, a half-smile on his face. "Leaving so soon?" It had the same tone, the same message she had given him earlier; can't you find an excuse to stay?
But she only smiled at him. "Five days ago was a special day for the Don's son. I was unable to be there due to certain circumstances, so I'm making up for that today." There was a neatly wrapped present in her hands, while the bouquet lay discarded on a centerpiece vase on the dining table. "I haven't seen Hayato for months now-I really miss him."
"Of course you do." And maybe there was more to what he was saying than what anyone could pick up on the surface. He knew what was going to happen once she left, but all of his attempts to stall for more time were futile. So a thwarted grin graced his features as he said, "Foiled by a dumb brat."
She turned to face him, and showed him a sympathetic smile. "Don't say that," she soothed, "There's always tomorrow if you'll miss me that much."
Shamal almost laughed at this, but he couldn't bring himself to go through with it. "I guess so."
And then there was that flash of concern, an expression he didn't really want to see, because it meant this was bothering him more than it should. "Is something the matter, Mister Shamal?"
He tried to quell her worries with a smile.
If you knew the one you loved was going to die, then the right thing to do was to tell them, save them. But this wasn't about right or wrong, not to him, at least. He couldn't even mix what he felt in this whole mess either, because that wasn't how things worked, that wasn't what he learned, what he lived with. It was an obligation-to who he was, what he was.
But still, the smile remained. A wink or two was even thrown in there. "If there was something the matter, would it be enough to convince you to stay with me?"
(Say yes-)
All it did was make her laugh again. "I almost fell for that one, Mister Shamal, but I'm afraid you've had your share-" at this, she even giggled "-of me. There's always tomorrow, like I've said." One last smile, one last look, last few words. "Please take care."
Shamal couldn't even look away.
"What-that's it? You just let her go?"
Shamal doesn't answer as he pours himself another glass of gin. He toys with the clear liquid a bit, lets it swirl around within its container, before downing it in one go. When he's done, he puts the glass back on the counter, lets one shoulder lift up and down in a half-shrug. "You heard me."
Gokudera can't even begin to understand what just happened. There he is, still on Shamal's couch, digesting a story that was just thrown at him with nothing else attached. He's trying to organize his thoughts, but all that does is mess them up even more, make him even more confused than he already is. Maybe saying it out loud will help, not that he thinks it really would, but he has no other option, "So you-went to her house, flirted with her, and stood there and watched as she drove off to her death? Do you honestly expect me to believe that?"
A ghost of a smile plays with the curve of Shamal's lips. "Weren't you listening, Hayato?"
This bewilders him a little, because he did listen, but now he's here, trying to look for the hidden meanings, the little things Shamal would always leave for him to pick up if he ever sits down long enough to think about it-except his search comes up empty, fruitless. When Shamal doesn't want to share, Gokudera knows that you would have to turn over every single rock and mountain to find what you've been looking for, but even then, who knows if that's the bit of truth you're after? He's known him for years, but he isn't any closer to figuring out the way he works.
So the only coherent reply he can come up with is, "Of course I was! I listened to every bit of it! But what I don't get is-if you knew she was going to die, why did you just-why did you just let her go?!" He's shouting by the end of it, shaking with mild rage that's continually growing. He doesn't even understand why he's so angry, because he knows the mafia never blended well with sentimentality, but he still finds himself asking, "Didn't you care enough?"
Just because he wants to hear something else other than I let her go.
He counted the minutes, the seconds, that passed by after she left, going by the tick-tock ticking madness of the wall clock. There was a set time when it was going to happen, and it was eight minutes past ten now, where the hands look their best. Not that he was quite sure where he learned that, but it was something about the angles, the degrees of inclination where it was two ticks away from perfect symmetry, that tried to convey a message he couldn't decipher. But it wasn't like it mattered, because like everything else, the hands moved on, tick-tocked their way into ten minutes past ten, and-
And like everything else, Shamal moved on too.
There was a nagging thought in the back of his mind, wondering about whether or not he did the right thing, but no, he told himself, this had never been about right or wrong. It was how things were supposed to go, supposed to be, especially considering his lifestyle. A mafioso hitman, born and bred to kill and love, love and kill, but there was a fine print attached to every contract: never get close, never get involved.
"Ah, this is troublesome," Shamal sighs, as he moves away from the kitchen and heads over to where Gokudera is seated. "You should be out there looking for a woman that will take you in as her husband or boy-toy, Hayato. Not prying into other people's business." He grabs him by the collar, pulls him up to his feet, and starts pushing him towards the door-same routine as last night-but Gokudera fights back this time, making it harder for him to be budged off the spot. It's annoying Shamal quite a bit, made obvious by the subtle way his eyes are narrowed and look a bit colder than they usually do, but Gokudera won't waver.
Not yet. Don't kick me out just yet.
"Wait-" because this is most likely his last chance to learn more "-just tell me one last thing." A frown settles on his lips, but he doesn't know why. "When she-when she played the piano-was she beautiful?" Even to him, this question is way too out of the blue to be taken seriously, but there it is anyway. He even has no idea why he's asking Shamal himself, but this man (as perverted and juvenile he could be sometimes) is his last remaining tie to his mother. Sure, there's the old lady back at Boccadasse, but Shamal knew her, knew her well enough to even flirt with her (Gokudera still feels like punching him for this one), and that's a big enough of a connection, really. To Gokudera, at least.
"... Because I can't remember."
Her fingers were long and slender, graceful, just like her, and the way they moved across the black and white keys was too fluid to be real. There was a kind of ethereal magic to it, one that could lull you into a trance and render you unable to resist its charms, but it wasn't like he ever resisted it in the first place. He stood there and watched her, listened to her play a song he never heard of before, taking it all in because this was the only time for him to be a little greedy, because it was a song for him, from her, and he couldn't get enough of it-and it wasn't even enough to stop him from craving for more.
It was a brash move on his part, but his limbs were moving before he could stop himself. In one moment, he was beside her, his hand reaching out to take one of hers in its grip, disrupting the music, disrupting the flow. He didn't stop to think; it was all action, all motion, all about the beating of his heart that wasn't telling him to stop.
But in the end, all he did was plant a simple kiss to the back of her hand.
He held back at the last moment, but he knew he broke something with what just happened. It didn't take a genius of his calibre to understand this, because all she had to do was pull her hand away and let him go.
It was the last time she played for him, and the first time he saw her without a smile.
For a brief moment, Gokudera thinks he sees a flicker of pity in the way Shamal looks at him and almost lets him go-until he reminds himself Shamal isn't really the type of person to even know the meaning of that word. This is further proven by the fact that Shamal just tightens his grip on him and puts all the effort in kicking him out of the house again. He tries to get the last word in, but Shamal cuts him off with a blunt, "You're wasting your time chasing ghosts, when you have real people after you." The smile on his face is clearly condescending now. "Didn't I just tell you to use your head, Hayato?"
And then the next thing Gokudera's looking at is the closed door in front of him. He contemplates getting the last word in, something along the lines of Well, screw you, old man!, but he disregards it and gets on his Brutale without thinking of anything else. It purrs when he starts it up, and then growls like it always does as he speeds off, to somewhere else that isn't here, that isn't anywhere near the man that could have told him everything, but didn't.
He doesn't even look back.
"You know, he's going to kill you someday."
It was a casual remark, a mere prediction that both men knew would come true whenever the presently eight-year-old Gokudera Hayato decided to grow up, let himself be manipulated some more by things he would never think about (it was a quirk of his, Shamal mused, a fatal quirk), and be led to believe he was taking matters into his own hands. Shamal understood this completely, and that was why he was here; perhaps to question the method to the Spizaeto Don's madness, because he knew there was an underlying blueprint of events that would one day rule their lives.
Or maybe it already was set in motion, and Shamal was just too blind to realize.
There was a lazy grin on his lips, while a fat cigar was burning on the other man's lips. They looked as if they were just enjoying each other's company from an outsider's point of view, made all the more friendly by the arrangement of teacups and biscuits and other miscellaneous pastries presented in front of them. If only they could hear what was being said, what was being discussed, then maybe they would have thought otherwise.
The Don laughed easily and without weight. "Of course. I'm well aware of it."
Shamal's grin widened a little, and made another comment like, "You had it all planned." It was meant to be a question, but it turned into a statement near the end. Maybe because Shamal was beginning to realize it himself.
"Not quite. Things just fell into place. Consequences are funny little things, aren't they?"
And Shamal laughed, wearing a man-of-the-world smile as he connected everything from dot to dot. There was a clever irony to all of this. It was his second chance to do things differently, to maybe make up for that one mistake he regretted, albeit fleetingly, but regretted nonetheless.
His second chance-
But the ending had already been decided.
title. (un)FINISHED.
genre. General/Drama.
rating. PG13.
characters. Gokudera Hayato, Bianchi, Dino Cavallone, Trident Shamal, Mommy!dera, and Daddy!dera; Katekyo Hitman REBORN!
warnings. Watch out for Gokudera's mouth. Gratuitous ... epic backstory-making. Yes.
wordcount. ... haha. 11591.
notes. Ah, there's a lot of filling in the blanks going on in this story (besides, I've been wanting to write something about Gokudera's mom anyway), but it was a whole lot of fun writing it all out. NOT THAT I EVEN REMEMBER WHAT I WROTE LMAO. I still need to reread this properly ffff. But anyway, hehe_05 was my artist for this fic, but she hasn't finished the piece yet. It'll be up pretty soon, haha. /o -- man, it didn't even fit in one post wtf lmfao. Also, this is written for the KHR Minibang 2008. 8Db
disclaimer. Bodies, limbs, thoughts, &things aren't mine. I just pull the strings &stay on the sidelines, 'cause that's where the puppeteer belongs when her dolls are strutting all over the stage.
synopsis. Consequences are funny little things, aren't they?