the dread pirate rinjacakes (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rinja) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
khrminibang2010-12-21 06:08 pm
rinja) wrote in khrminibang2010-12-21 06:08 pm
Entry tags:
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Hit the Ground Running (fic)
( He's nineteen years old and he still treats life like a drag race. )
AUTHOR:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tempesta
PAIRING/CHARACTERS: Yamamoto, Gokudera, Shamal, Bianchi, Tsuna
RATING: PG-13
If there was one thing Gokudera Hayato hated, it was baseball. All throughout middle school and high school, it was “baseball this” and “baseball that.” “Gokudera, did you make it to the game?” or “I have tickets to a game this Saturday, you free?” Time and time again, it was always the same goddamn answer: no, fuck off; I have better shit to do. And Yamamoto would just laugh it off and ask again next week, like he had a short-term memory, like everything was okay.
And then he left. Even after their time in the future, even after all those stupid fucking promises he made to Squalo and to Tsuna, he went on to the minor leagues anyway. And Tsuna smiled and wished him luck, and promised to watch all of his games when he could. Part of Gokudera understood – that small part of him that actually thought Yamamoto was worth something as a member of the Family – but the other part hated him for it, even if the dumbass flew down at every moment’s notice. Even if he was still a Family member.
Gokudera hated watching baseball just as much as he hated hearing about it. It was boring, drawn out, and needlessly annoying. Tsuna knew this, and yet he still invited Gokudera to come watch the games with the rest of the Family. He wanted to say no, to shut himself in his apartment and work on things that mattered, like lab reports and term papers, but it was Tsuna and he could never say no to him. So he came every time and watched Yamamoto’s games and watched him run around in that stupid uniform and do something he was good at. He just couldn’t bring it in him to hate him though, but he could damn well hold it against him.
And then came the phone calls. Week after week, it was the same thing. “I heard you were watching my games,” turned to “So what did you think of the other team’s pitcher? What a fastball!” “How’s school?” became “How’s the family?” until he was asking about everyone individually, somehow satisfied with Gokudera’s one word answers. And then that stupid laugh of his began to grate on his nerves when “I miss you guys” became “I miss you.” Gokudera always hung up after that.
But this time, he couldn’t hang up. Not when Yamamoto Takeshi was standing three feet away from him, grinning like an idiot would after breaking his mother’s best vase. No, all he could do was stand there and stare like he was the idiot because what the hell was Yamamoto doing there?
“Hey!” he said with a laugh, stepping closer to Gokudera, all smiles and sunshine as if he had just seen Gokudera yesterday, but he wasn’t falling for it.
Snapping his mouth closed, he stepped back and away from Yamamoto. “What are you doing here?” he hissed. “Aren’t you still playing for that stupid baseball team in Tokyo?”
Yamamoto just shrugged, lips pulled up in an infuriatingly pleasant smile. “Excited to see me, huh?” He smiled and held up a briefcase. “But I’m here on official business, remember? Or did Tsuna not tell you?” His smile practically turned cheeky as Gokudera made a grab for the briefcase, but he pulled it out of his reach.
“Tell me what?” he asked, still staring up at the briefcase.
Yamamoto looked around, his eyes lingering on the driver waiting in the black sedan behind Gokudera. “You’re here to meet an informant, right?”
Gokudera paused mid-nod and stared. How did Yamamoto know that? More importantly, why did Yamamoto know that? There wasn’t any other reason he’d be in an abandoned parking lot near the airport except to meet someone. He paused again as the pieces clicked together. “You’ve gotta be shitting me.”
“Sorry,” Yamamoto said with a laugh, tucking the briefcase under his arm. “That would be me.”
“When the hell did you get Yakuza connections?”
Yamamoto’s laugh quickly turned sheepish. “Well, that’s a long story. See, Tsuna ended up calling to ask me to get the information from the informant and bring it down, since the guy was in my area. So I’m kinda like the informant of the informant.” He laughed again, this time louder, waving his free hand in front of him. “But none of that matters, I’ve got the information.”
Gokudera rubbed the bridge of his nose as he just barely resisted the urge to punch Yamamoto in the face. Only because he had no justifiable reason to do so (and “because” wasn’t good enough to satisfy the Tenth). Instead, he inhaled slowly and looked up at Yamamoto expectantly. “Hand it over then.” So he could get back in the car and be on his merry way.
Suddenly, he wished he were back at his apartment pouring over his textbooks. At least he would be away from Yamamoto, the last person he wanted to be talking to.
Yamamoto just perked up and smiled. “Oh, right. Sure.” He held the briefcase out and Gokudera snatched it away. He didn’t waste any time in turning on his heel and walking back toward the car waiting for him. Ignoring Yamamoto’s cries, he opened the door and shut it just as quickly.
“Drive,” he said, setting the briefcase in his lap so he could open it. It was probably all of the information he needed to finish this mission quickly and efficiently. More than Yamamoto could relate, anyway. He was just the messenger boy, and was clearly expendable in this situation. Just as the car started to take off, however, Yamamoto’s suitcase landed on the hood and the driver stopped, causing Gokudera to slide forward in his seat.
Yamamoto smiled and leaned against the door, face inches away from Gokudera’s window. He motioned for the driver to roll the window down and Gokudera sat up. “Don’t you dare—” he started, but it was too late, and Yamamoto’s head was through the window as soon as it was down.
“Look, Tsuna wants us to work together for this one,” he said, still wearing that stupid smile. “Now, you can either let me in, or I can follow you there in a taxi and do absolutely nothing to help your cover.”
Gokudera frowned up at him, finger hesitating over the button for the window. Oh, how easy it would be. But, of course, killing Yamamoto would create unnecessary complications within the family, the costs unfortunately outweighing the benefits. He could just keep driving, of course—
“Also, I’m the only one who knows the code for the briefcase.”
--Shit. He grunted and scooted over in his seat while opening the door, his arms crossed over his chest petulantly.
“Thank you.” Yamamoto slid in and got comfortable as the car took off again.
“So brief me then,” Gokudera mumbled, shoving Yamamoto’s briefcase back at him. He caught it with practiced ease and opened it up, pulling a stack of folders out.
Yamamoto closed the briefcase again and began flipping through the documents as he cleared his throat. “It seems we are dealing the Yakuza, though I’m sure you know that much. We were on great terms with the previous clan in Namimori, Hibari made sure of that, but recently another clan has moved in on our territory.”
Gokudera scoffed. “I didn’t need you to tell me that.”
Yamamoto shifted a bit and glanced from the window back to Gokudera. “Whatever happened, it happened quick, not to mention right under our noses. The power’s pretty much shifted hands and this new clan has been operating within our territory for a month.” He sighed, scratching the back of his neck. “Apparently it was very tame at first, they continued the business of the previous clan, but things went south recently. We’re not sure who they’re buying from, but they’ve been selling hard drugs on our streets and have been ‘corrupting’ our population. It’s a problem.”
Gokudera shifted in his seat, looking over at Yamamoto. “Dealing with the Yakuza? Isn’t this Hibari’s area?”
“His hands are a little tied up at the moment,” he said with a shrug and a smile. “Got better things to do than take care of a ‘minor issue’.” He grinned over at Gokudera as he finally put the folders away.
Gokudera rolled his eyes and sighed. “So we’re stuck doing garbage duty,” he said. “You get the orders then?”
Yamamoto looked toward the driver and then back at Gokudera. “Well, Tsuna’s orders were solve the problem by any means necessary. Reborn might’ve suggested twisting a few arms, just to show them who they’re dealing with.”
Gokudera relaxed and smirked for the first time that afternoon, cracking his knuckles as he sat up. “That’s more like it,” he said. “And this is where I come in.”
Yamamoto hesitated, holding up a hand before settling back down again. “Actually, my orders were to go with you to the drop spot. In…” He checked his watch, “an hour and a half.”
And, like magic, Gokudera smile disappeared as he reached into his pocket to pull out a cigarette. He figured this would’ve happened, and he wanted to protest, wanted to put up a fight, but he knew he would only be met with resistance. Yamamoto could be just as stubborn as he was, and the Tenth did tell him he would be working with the informant. Shit.
Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, he nodded and took a drag of his cigarette. “If you drag me down, I won’t hesitate to leave you behind.”
Yamamoto just smiled and leaned back. “I know. And I don’t plan on it.”
--
“Simple job my ass!” Gokudera shouted as he jumped into the car. Yamamoto slid in behind him, missing his suit jacket and carrying his Shigure Kintoki. The door slammed behind them once they were both safely inside before the car sped off. Yamamoto turned toward Gokudera.
“Let me see it,” he said and Gokudera held his arm close to his chest.
“It’s fucking fine, okay? Let’s just get out of here,” he spat, shooting a glare in Yamamoto’s direction.
Yamamoto’s frown deepened. “Give it here, Gokudera,” he said, reaching out to gently pull Gokudera’s arm away from his chest. He tried to struggle, but it hurt too fucking much, so he eventually gave in. Yamamoto pulled his jacket up and he hissed, wanting to pull his arm back, but Yamamoto’s hand was on his shoulder, steadying it.
“It’s broken,” Yamamoto mumbled.
“No shit, Sherlock. I’ll just have Shamal set it and I’ll be fine,” he said, pulling his arm away. This time, Yamamoto let him. It stung like a bitch, his arm was throbbing and he felt like he was going to throw up, but he held it in. He just wanted to close his eyes for five seconds, but it didn’t seem like Yamamoto was going to let him, the way he was fidgeting incessantly, checking behind him to see if they were being followed.
The situation could have been a lot worse, he would admit that much (especially considering they went alone), but it also could have been a lot better. It figured they had dogs.
“And fucking settle down, they aren’t gonna be following us.”
Yamamoto turned back to Gokudera and smiled, though there was something off about it. He didn’t care enough to place it. “You’re right. We took pretty good care of them, huh?” He laughed, settling in his chair. “Just like old times.”
Gokudera clicked his tongue and gripped the top of his arm tighter, trying to ignore the dull throbbing in his arm. “Just like old times.” Only Yamamoto was like the one puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit in anymore. And he did that to himself.
The rest of the car ride was spent in silence, though Gokudera knew Yamamoto was watching him. He kept his eyes closed and tried to concentrate, using all of his willpower not to shout or move around or break the bone even further. He fought the urge to break the idiot’s nose and blame the whole thing on him, but he knew he couldn’t. Not yet, not now (but when had he ever waited for the opportune moment?).
As soon as the car pulled up to the base, he kicked the door open and stormed out, clutching his arm to his chest. He ignored Yamamoto’s protests as he made a beeline for the infirmary, a place he generally avoided at all costs. Normal scrapes, cuts, and burns were injuries he had learned to take care of on his own, late at night in his bedroom when the skin was fresh and cuts still stung. Trial and error wasn’t the best method, but at least it worked, with the help of a medical dictionary.
But this was different. He couldn’t just push his bone back into place and keep operating like nothing was wrong. He would’ve liked too, but even he wasn’t stubborn enough to do something that dumb. Gokudera knew he had to keep the forward momentum, so he had to suck it up and take it, because there was no way in hell he was letting a broken arm stop him from doing his job.
Standing outside of the infirmary, he looked at the door and took a few deep, calming breaths. It didn’t work as well as he had hoped, but he also had a few factors working against him (mainly his throbbing arm and pounding head). Finally, he opened the door and stepped in, fully prepared to find Shamal seated at his desk with a young woman in his lap. She had a blush on her cheeks as he whispered something hot and private in her ear, his fingers traveling up and down the expanse of her arm. Neither of them seemed to notice as Gokudera stood there in the doorway, suit stained with blood (that wasn’t his) and clutching his arm to his chest like it would disappear if he let go.
He finally cleared his throat and the woman looked up, her blush deepening. Looking down at Shamal, she finally pushed away and fled the room. The doctor stood up and chased her to the door, stopping just at the frame as he called out her name. It sounded Japanese, but Gokudera wasn’t paying attention.
“You owe me for this,” Shamal said as he shut the door and walked back into the room. “Do you know how hard it was to finally coax that girl out of her shell? It’s going to take me another three weeks just to get her to look at me again.”
“I don’t give two shits about your potential sexual conquests,” Gokudera snapped. “Fix it.” He thrust out his arm, wincing when he felt a familiar jolt of pain.
Shamal didn’t even spare a passing glance at Gokudera’s injury, instead walking across the room and sitting on his chair again. He swiveled it around and kicked his feet up on the desk, pulling out an issue of Penthouse and opening it straight to the centerfold. “Fix it yourself.”
“It’s broken, asshole,” Gokudera said. “And you’re the only doctor here, so fix it.”
Shamal sighed, turning the page of his magazine and pausing to enjoy the view. “You’re really no good with flattery,” he said. “It’s a wonder you’re even sent on diplomacy missions. You need to find a better angle when it comes to asking for favors.”
Gokudera was about ten seconds away from sticking a piece of dynamite down Shamal’s throat. “This isn’t a favor, and I swear I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” Shamal asked. “Kill me in my sleep? Cut my throat? You’d be dead, or worse, faster than you could try.” He spun the chair around and closed his magazine, looking up at Gokudera. “Now, you’re the one looking for help, which surprises me more than anything. So either clean up your act and ask nicely, or get out.”
Gokudera glared down at Shamal as he took a deep breath. He was not in the mood for this. Any other time, he could’ve swallowed his pride and asked for help, but he was feeling like shit and half-tempted to go find a real doctor for once in his life. But he did it anyway, free hand clenched and teeth gritted. “Shamal, could you please look at my arm?”
Shamal’s lips pulled up in a thin smile. “You’ve never been one for sugar coating words,” he said. “But no, you know I only operate on women.”
“Bastard!” Gokudera shouted, moving just enough to send another jolt of pain shooting up into his shoulder. “What the hell do you want? Bribery? Or are you just going to waste my time until I pass out?”
Shamal shrugged and tossed his magazine onto his desk. “Bribery, hm? Well, that’s a first. Try me then.”
Gokudera wracked his brain for something, anything, that Shamal might want. Money, weapons, favors – he could get those things easily, he didn’t need Gokudera for them. “I’ll find you a fucking date or something.”
Shamal was silent for a moment as if contemplating the offer. “Your sister. Get me a date with your sister,” he said with a smile.
He wanted to say no, to ball his good first and throw the first punch. This was Bianchi, his sister, and there was no way in hell he’d throw her to this particular wolf, even if she was the embodiment of so many painful years and memories. But she was Bianchi. She could handle herself against this guy. She’d just probably never forgive him. He never said it had to be a successful date. “Fine, I’ll get you a date with my sister, now are you gonna do this or not?”
“Gladly.”
Shamal was true to his word and was quick to start, beginning with the x-rays and analyzing them thoroughly. He said it was an “oblique fracture of the proximal Ulna,” or a diagonal fracture along his upper forearm. “You’re lucky it only broke in one place,” he said, looking over at Gokudera out of the corner of his eye. “And you’re lucky it’s a clean break too.”
Gokudera scoffed.
Considering how clean the break was, Shamal only had to set it because applying the cast. Gokudera protested at the use of any kind of painkiller, but the doctor forced it on it anyway. “Like hell if I’m going to have to listen to you scream,” he said with a smirk. Gokudera didn’t protest for the rest of the operation. It still hurt like hell.
He only grumbled under his breath when Shamal applied the plaster cast, starting at his wrist and finishing past his elbow, topping it off with a black finish (“for added effect”). Gokudera looked down at it and sighed, moving his arm and hating the way he couldn’t bend it.
“How long do I have to deal with this?” he asked as he grabbed a new shirt and slid it on over the cast. He left the sleeve unbuttoned and rolled it up with much difficulty.
“I give it a month,” Shamal said, sitting back down in his chair.
Gokudera looked up, face paling. “A month!?”
“—Three weeks tops, if you’re lucky. Just keep the use to a minimum, wear the sling whenever necessary. Make sure you cover it when you shower, you don’t want any water getting in the cast. Oh, and drink lots of milk too.” He smirked.
Gokudera got up and grabbed his things, shooting a particularly nasty glare at Shamal before he made his way toward the door. “Thanks for the help, old man,” he said.
Shamal laughed, kicking his legs back up on the desk and opening his magazine. “Whatever, kid. Just don’t forget my date with your sister, or I’ll have to get serious with you.” The threat hung in the air, implications left unsaid. Gokudera knew enough to know that Shamal meant business, and he wasn’t one to go back on his word. Well, at least he didn’t have a deadline.
--
Gokudera struggled to hold his keys up to the door and hold his bag at the same time. He wasn’t used to this, nor did he think he would ever get used to this (three weeks was hardly a time to adjust to something anyway). After some expert maneuvering, however, he finally managed to slide the keys into the lock and turn them enough so he could kick the door open. He let out a quiet sigh of relief as he set his bag down inside of his apartment so he could retrieve the keys and close the door behind him. Home, sweet home. He had longed for this moment all day.
It had been a long day. A long, hard day, full of people ready to stick themselves so far into his side he’d need more than tweezers to get them out. But this day had its ups, and seeing Tsuna was one of them. Their interactions had been limited for the past three months considering Reborn’s “plans” for him and all of the work he was doing, a lot of it in Italy. Gokudera had begged Reborn to let him go, but Tsuna told him his place was in Japan, because he needed someone to look after the Family. He had taken that job with pride. But Tsuna was back and he had the chance to see him, even if most of it was spent being fussed at. That was enough for him.
Gokduera set his keys in the bowl next to his door before removing his shoes and setting them next to the nice dress shoes someone had left by the door. He took one step into the apartment before pausing and backtracking. Who the hell left dress shoes in his house? His eyes immediately moved back toward the direction of his kitchen, hand reaching for a bomb.
“Ah, Gokudera! Welcome home,” a sickeningly familiar voice said cheerfully, as Yamamoto poked his head out of the kitchen. He had changed out of his bloodied suit and into something clean, one of Gokudera’s aprons fitted nicely over the attire. He looked like a part of one of the kitchen sets he had bought when he moved in from his studio so he could be closer to school (and to Tsuna).
Gokudera, however, did not look so happy to see the other. “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, dropping his bag again and stalking into the kitchen. “Where the hell did you get a key?”
Yamamoto’s smile turned sheepish as he patted the front pocket of his slacks. “Tsuna gave me your spare,” he said. “I went to give him the full report and he gave me your key. Didn’t he tell you?”
Gokudera wanted to snap at Yamamoto and tell him no, the Tenth did not tell him that he let him borrow his key. Why would he even do that? But he kept his mouth shut and took a deep breath in through his nose. And then out through his mouth. “You’re not staying here,” he said, pointing toward the door with his good arm. “Get out.”
Yamamoto continued to look sheepish as he looked from Gokudera, to the door, and back to Gokudera again. “Please, it’ll just be for a few days. I don’t need you to feed me, or clothe me, or even give me a bed. I just need a place to stay.”
“Bullshit,” Gokudera said, walking further into his apartment and toward Yamamoto. “Can’t you get a hotel for a few days or something? Doesn’t your dad still live back home? Your shit’s still there.”
Yamamoto looked straight into Gokudera’s eyes as he placed his hands on his hips and sighed. “It was a last minute trip, and I don’t want to bother my dad, okay?” What the hell was that supposed to mean? Gokudera knew that Yamamoto’s father would probably have a heart attack from sheer happiness if he got to see his son, but he didn’t say that out loud. “Just for a few days. Please?”
Every bone in Gokudera’s body told him to say no. His mind screamed at him that this was an awful idea, that he’d hate him even more by the end of those “few days.” He knew it himself that nothing good could come out of this living situation. He didn’t care what Yamamoto’s problems were with his father, and he didn’t care what excuses he was making not to get a hotel. He only cared that this was Yamamoto, in his apartment, his last bastion of sanity, and he didn’t want to taint his last sanctuary.
But Tsuna gave him that key, and he knew that was almost like an order. He could almost hear the Tenth’s voice telling him to “play nice” and “put up with Yamamoto, please.” He didn’t want to disappoint him again, not after his last mistake.
“Fine,” he snapped, grabbing his bag again and walking past Yamamoto and into his apartment. “But keep the volume to a minimum. You want something, you’re gonna have to wait. I have class on weekdays and a shitton of homework. If you disturb me, I won’t hesitate to kick your ass back out on the streets, you hear?”
Yamamoto nodded, smiling for some weird reason that Gokudera couldn’t place. “Thanks a ton, Gokudera,” he said. “You won’t regret it.”
Gokudera had a feeling he would. “Whatever,” he mumbled. “Just leave me alone when I’m doing homework. Or anything else. Just…don’t bother me.” Yamamoto nodded in understanding. Gokudera paused and looked around, taking in a deep breath. He had never given a tour of his apartment (except to Tsuna, of course, but that had been brief after he had moved in). He wasn’t sure what to say.
“Bathroom’s down the hall, shower’s free if I’m not in it. Help yourself to anything n the kitchen, I just got groceries a few days ago. I do my homework in the living room, so keep it down. If you wanna sleep, you’re gonna have to wait.” Yamamoto nodded again, a little too enthusiastically for Gokudera. He sighed in annoyance and pushed past him into the apartment.
“I was thinking about cooking something simple for dinner,” he said, though the smells in the kitchen told him he had done more than just think about it. “So that’ll be ready in a half hour, maybe forty-five minutes.”
Gokudera grunted in response, pushing into his room and dying to just lie down in his bed and fall asleep. But he had chemistry homework that needed finishing and a lab report due the next day that he hadn’t even started. He blamed Yamamoto for that too.
“Do whatever the hell you want,” he said, grabbing his textbooks and sitting down at the kitchen table. Any normal person would’ve called in sick, taken a few days off from school, but he didn’t have that luxury. He didn’t even have the choice to crawl back in bed and sleep until he felt better (which would probably take a while).
Yamamoto, on the other hand, seemed to take that as a reasonable answer and moved back into the kitchen, cooking with the least amount of noise as humanly possible. When he was done, he portioned the food onto plates and set one in front of Gokudera. He sat across from him and ate, reading the sports section of the newspaper like this was what he did every night, before cleaning up the dishes and falling asleep on the couch. Gokudera paid him no mind, not even noting his presence as he immersed himself in his schoolwork and didn’t come out until two in the morning.
That night, after the painkillers wore off, he found himself unable to sleep. The throbbing in his arm returned, pounding in his head as he stared up at his ceiling. He could only think of equations and formulas as he laid there and stared into the darkness, tossing and turning until he eventually settled into a restless sleep.
--
It had started out like any normal meeting; all of the guardians had taken their respectful seats around the polished table, each with their own reasons for being there. They were all dressed up as well, with the exception of Gokudera, who could only fit so much over his bulky cast (a new addition to his personage that Hibari and Ryohei were quick to bring up). Their tailored suits fit them all well, but there was something about the way the fabric hung off of their developing bodies that made them look odd, like they hadn’t quite grown into them yet. They were still in that transitional phase, most of them barely even twenty years old, and they had graduated and moved on with their lives, but most of them stayed behind, Yamamoto being the only exception.
When Tsuna finally entered the room, everyone settled down and took their seats. Tsuna sat down at the head of the table and began his report the same way he always did – with a summary of the events of the previous week. The guardians sat silently through that, a few occasionally interjecting when it was appropriate, but Tsuna let it slide, looking less and less stressed as the meeting went on. And then he finally looked around and smiled. “And Yamamoto and Gokudera were successful in intercepting a shipment of drugs being brought in by the new Clan.” And Gokudera felt his heart sink into his chest.
And that’s when the meeting went from controlled to crazed. It had started with an interruption from Hibari, who wasted no time in commenting on their unorthodox methods. Gokudera was quick to jump this own defense and it escalated from there until everyone was shouting to be heard over one another, Tsuna included. Yamamoto was the only exception as he sat at Tsuna’s left side and listened, eyes darting around the room.
“Everyone, quite down!” Tsuna tried to shout, but the rest of the guardians were already locked in a heated debate, some quick to point fingers, others quick to jump to their defense, even if none of them knew the situation. Gokudera tried to calm them down as well, but even he was too mad to do it; too defensive to step down. Inhaling deeply, he finally slammed his good hand down on the table repeatedly.
The pounding was only amplified by the ring around his pinky; a sound that reverberated in the large room like a judge’s gavel. The other guardians finally looked over, their conversations trickling to a halt. “Finally,” he said, and sat down again with a huff. Tsuna took his hands out of his hair and smiled nervously.
“Thank you, Gokudera,” he said, hands smoothing down the wrinkles in his suit jacket. “I appreciate all of your input, really, but Yamamoto and Gokudera took care of it, and it shouldn’t be a problem for a while.”
Hibari was quick to respond, and it was obvious how on-edge he was being stuck in a room with so many people for so long. “It was a symptom,” he snapped, looking bored as he stood up. “You may have ‘cured’ a symptom at the risk of your own lives, but you haven’t fixed the problem at its source. Where were they getting these drugs from?”
“A clan in Sapporo,” Yamamoto said, speaking up for the first time that day. “And I’m almost positive they have more connections.”
“Exactly,” Hibari said. “And so you’ve run in and caused a mess. What has that done other than make you more useless than you already are?” He looked at Gokudera as he said this, his face bored, tone languid.
Gokudera stood up and clenched his fists. “If you fucking came here to fight…”
Tsuna rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed. “That’s enough, Hibari,” he said. “I have special orders for you, so you can leave if you want.” Hibari only responded with a curt nod before he was out of the room, the door closing behind him. Tsuna just relaxed and ran a hand through his hair. “Anyone else?” The room remained silent. “That’s what I thought.”
He continued on with the meeting uninterrupted after that, finally concluded with the weekly assignments. As he passed them out, Ryohei and Chrome filtered out of the room, leaving only Yamamoto and Gokudera behind.
“Since you’re in town, I have a special mission for you,” Tsuna said with a small smile, sliding a file toward Yamamoto. “Read it, it should be really easy, but I’m entrusting it to you. I have a second mission as well, it’s also inside of the file.” Yamamoto opened it and smiled, leafing through the file’s contents. When it was done, he got up and left, closing the door behind him.
Gokudera was always the last to get his assignments, so he sat up when Yamamoto was gone, ready to receive whatever the Tenth had for him. Tsuna looked over at Gokudera and hesitantly pulled something out of his suit jacket, sliding it over to Gokudera.
He picked it up and the smile immediately dropped from his face. “What’s this?”
Tsuna shifted in his seat, turning it to face Gokudera. “It’s a three week paid vacation,” he said slowly. “For your arm.”
Gokudera set it down slowly and looked up at Tsuna. “Is…this some kind of joke?” he asked. Was the Tenth tossing him away, calling him useless? “It was a clean break, I can still fight, I can still do something.”
Tsuna slowly shook his head, placing a hand on Gokudera’s good shoulder and squeezing. “Gokudera, I know you’re not useless, but I don’t want you to exert yourself. If you injure yourself further and cause permanent damage, well…” He paused, looking Gokudera in the eye. “I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.
“Tenth…”
Tsuna didn’t let him finish. “I know this seems bad, and it isn’t that I don’t trust you, but I need you to take some time off and concentrate on school, okay? It’s only for a few weeks, until you get your cast off. Then I’ll have a ton of missions for you to work on.” He paused. “And I might even have a job for you this weekend, if you want to come in and help me with some things around the base.”
Gokudera only nodded and stood up. Tsuna’s kindness astounded him sometimes, but he still couldn’t help but feel like everything that was said that meeting was right; that it was Gokudera’s fault for compromising the mission. “Thank you, Tenth,” he said with a forced smile and left the room to go back to his apartment. He didn’t feel like sticking around, especially since he had nothing to do there.
When he got back into his apartment, he locked himself up in his room and poured over his textbooks, distracting himself with laws and rules and formulas until his mind was full to bursting. He couldn’t help but think he was being tossed aside. That he was completely useless. He had never taken a vacation before in his life, and he had sustained injuries much worse than this, so why now?
Closing his textbook, he laid down in his bed and stared up at the ceiling again, running the actions of that single moment through his head over and over, trying to figure out what had he done wrong. He remembered it clearly, pushing on ahead of Yamamoto to make the first strike. He remembers every punch he threw, every pull of the trigger he made, ever bomb tossed into the fray. He didn’t remember seeing Yamamoto at all, too focused on his mission to care to find him. And then that sickening crack… How could he have been so careless?
He closed his eyes and settled back down on the bed, too tired to stay awake, but too awake to fall asleep. So he laid there and ran the scene through his head over and over until he couldn’t anymore. He didn’t hear Yamamoto enter the apartment and he didn’t even think about him outside of the peripherals of his thought, which he ran into the ground and eventually gave up on. He had made a mistake, he knew it, he just couldn’t figure out where.
When he got up to leave the room, he opened his door to find a plate of food waiting for him on the kitchen table, Yamamoto asleep in front of the television. Gokudera rolled his eyes and turned it off, not bothering to throw a blanket over the other as he took his food in the kitchen to reheat it, and finish his homework. He could come back to it later when he had more time to think.
--
A “few days” eventually became a “week and a half” as Yamamoto made himself at home in Gokudera’s apartment. Gokudera hadn’t questioned his presence at first, too absorbed in getting his schoolwork done and enjoying his “vacation” (which he couldn’t really enjoy at all). His days were spent in class, evenings inside, locked away in his room or pouring over textbooks on the kitchen table. Yamamoto faded nicely into the background for the first week, spending his days and nights doing work for Tsuna, and coming home only to make dinner and pass out in front of the television.
And then, before he knew it, a week had already passed and Yamamoto’s silent spell had run dry. He talked animatedly about his missions as he moved around the kitchen, asked Gokudera questions about his schoolwork and what university life was like. He also talked a lot about baseball, which wasn’t surprising at all. In fact, it was to be expected.
Gokudera knew Yamamoto’s silence was too good to be true. For the Tenth, he chanted to himself. Because that was the only thought keeping him from snapping and killing Yamamoto.
“So, you should’ve been there, Takeru did the funniest thing at practice a few months ago,” Yamamoto said as he sat down to lunch with Gokudera, setting a plate of food in front of him. Gokudera didn’t touch it, his nose buried in a chemistry textbook. “When the pitcher was winding up, he started doing this—”
“I don’t care, Yamamoto,” Gokudera mumbled, eyes still glued to his book. “I’m studying.”
A brief look of disappointment passed over Yamamoto’s face before he was back to smiling. “Sorry,” he said, and then returned to eating. “You gonna eat that?”
“Later.” Gokudera turned the page and kept reading, tapping the eraser of his pencil against the table. His arm hung at his side, the sling loose on his shoulder.
“You should eat, Gokudera. It’s important to have energy, which will help you heal faster.”
Gokudera turned another page. “What the hell do you know?”
Yamamoto’s smile widened. “I broke my arm once too, remember?”
Gokudera paused, his pencil hovering over the table as he pretended to read. Of course he remembered. He barely knew the idiot and he had been secondhand embarrassed from that suicide attempt on top of the school. He seemed to be one of the only ones who remembered that Yamamoto had tried to kill himself, and he tried not to. “Whatever. Just stay out of my damn business.”
Yamamoto frowned and opened his mouth to say something when the door to Gokudera’s apartment burst open. Gokudera immediately sat up grabbed his book, eyes moving toward the door.
“Hayato,” called the sickly sweet voice of his sister, Bianchi. Gokudera felt something twist in his stomach as he got up, from the table, though he wasn’t sure what he would do at this point. There never was an easy escape when his sister was involved. He had no choice but to turn toward the front door as she kicked it closed and walked in, lips set in a thin line, goggles fastened securely over her eyes.
“So tell me, baby brother, why am I expected to go on a date with Shamal?” she asked, arms crossed over her chest.
Gokudera steeled himself, standing up straight so he was eye-to-eye with her. Yamamoto just watched from his seat at the table. “Because he asked for one.”
“Bullshit.”
“Fuck, I was in pain, my arm was broken and he was the only goddamn doctor in the room,” Gokudera said, pressing his free hand to his chest. “He asked, what else could I say.”
Bianchi sighed, rubbing her temple. “No, Hayato. You could’ve said no.”
Gokudera threw his good arm up and stalked over to the couch. “And then what, huh? What about me?”
“It’s always about you, isn’t it?” Bianchi followed him. “You didn’t stop to think about how I’d feel about this, did you?”
Yamamoto sat up a bit. “It’s just one date, you know.”
“Stay out of his, Yamamoto,” Bianchi said, holding her hand up and moving over to Gokudera. “You’re such a selfish little punk.”
“What the fuck do you know?” Gokudera asked, turning around and looking back at his sister. “You think I should’ve just waltzed out there and found some random doctor, huh? We have a Family one for a reason. Blame him for being so damn picky on who he operates on.”
“Trust me, I do,” Bianchi said. “But this isn’t about Shamal.”
“This has everything to do with Shamal!”
“No, little brother, this is about you,” Bianchi started, “and your selfishness. You think I haven’t heard how rash you’ve been acting lately.” Yamamoto sunk into his chair. “You’re a damn fool for running into that warehouse without thinking, and you have no one to blame for your injuries but yourself. And now you’re dragging me into it.”
Gokudera sighed, his face flushed. Part of him knew she was right, but he’d be damned if he admitted to it. “Fuck, okay, whatever. I’ll keep you out of my ‘problems.’ So, can you just go on the date?”
“No,” Bianchi said with a simple shrug.
“I don’t have time for this,” Gokudera said, storming toward his bedroom with the full intention of locking himself inside. He did not want to deal with this right now.
Bianchi only smirked. “Oh, you have all the time in the world for this, Hayato. What are you doing right now, studying? I know your uselessness has put you on a month-long vacation.”
Gokudera felt something within him snap. He had no idea what he had done to deserve this, everything that had happened to him within the past month, starting with the arrival of Yamamoto. The world had something against him, he knew it, but there was no way he was going to stop moving forward, no matter how many obstacles were in his way.
He turned around and stared at Bianchi. His mouth opened to protest, to say something to defend what little honor he seemed to have left at this point, but when their eyes connected, he felt a sharp pain in his stomach and he doubled over. She only smiled as she set her goggles down on the kitchen table and approached Gokudera. Yamamoto stood up.
“If I went on that date, you wouldn’t learn anything,” she said, crouching down near him and staring him straight in the eyes. He felt the bile rise in his throat and quickly looked at the floor. Darkness seemed into the corners of his vision and he felt his legs buckle. “I’m sorry, Hayato.”
He barely had time to get up before he felt himself lose consciousness. The last thing he heard before he passed out was someone calling his name before warmth enveloped his entire body.
When he came to, he was laying down in his bed, the blinds closed and the lights off. Sitting up, he rubbed his face with his right hand and looked around. A wave of nausea hit him like a punch in the gut and he doubled over again with a quiet groan. A few seconds later, the door creaked open and Yamamoto walked in carrying a glass of water.
“You’re awake,” he said with a small smile as he sat on the edge of Gokudera’s bed. “Here, drink this.”
Gokudera had half a mind to hit the glass out of his hands, but his throat felt dry and he wanted to get the taste of bile out of his mouth. Reaching out, he took the glass and said nothing as he drank.
Yamamoto shifted a bit, his smile softening. “I talked to her before she left,” he said. “After everything calmed down, she said she’d go on the date, but only this time, but if you do it again, she’d kill you.” He laughed, like there was nothing wrong in repeating a death threat. It made Gokudera’s headache even worse.
He didn’t care what his sister did. He hoped she poisoned Shamal’s food while they were out. That would at least take care of one of his problems. The other one, however, was still sitting on his bed. “Stay out of my business,” he said, taking another sip of water before setting the empty glass down on his bedside table. “I don’t need your help.”
Yamamoto’s smile slipped. “Look, I just wanted to help…”
“You’ve helped enough,” Gokudera snapped, pulling his legs up to his chest. “You’ve been here for two weeks and all you’ve been doing is ‘helping.’ Yeah, well, maybe I don’t want help.”
“What you want and what you need seem to be two completely different things.”
Gokudera stiffened. “What the hell do you know?” he asked. “First Bianchi comes in here and preaches at me, and now you? What the hell do you know about wants and needs? You’re following your whims all the time, why the hell can’t I follow mine?”
Yamamoto remained silent and Gokudera continued. “Two weeks, Yamamoto. Two weeks and you’re parading around like you live here, like you’re some kind of permanent addition to my life. Well, you don’t, and you aren’t. And you never fucking will be. You think you can just come in here and pretend like nothing’s wrong; like you didn’t leave the Tenth for some stupid game?”
Yamamoto immediately sat up. “Since when was this about my career?” he asked, looking hurt and confused. “This was never about my career. And you’re the only one holding onto that, Gokudera. It’s not like I left the country. It’s not like I moved halfway across Japan to play baseball. I stayed close for a reason and Tsuna knows it!”
Gokudera scoffed. “You still fucking left,” he said. “You’re never around and you call like we’re still in high school. Like we’re fucking friends or something.”
The room was silent for a moment as Yamamoto stared at him, all traces of a smile gone from his face. “This isn’t about Tsuna, is it?” he asked, voice quiet.
“No, this is,” Gokudera snapped. “How could you leave the Tenth, after everything he had done for you?”
Yamamoto shook his head. “I haven’t left anyone,” he said. “Why am I denied a future while everyone else gets to pursue theirs? Ryohei’s boxing, you’re at a university. Even Hibari’s working, so why am I the only one you single out? Do you really hate me that much?”
His words struck a chord within Gokudera. But he didn’t hate him. He couldn’t hate him, no matter what he did, or said, or didn’t do. He could only hold onto his feelings of contempt and keep him at arm’s length. He didn’t say anything as he looked at the window, though he couldn’t even see out of that.
Yamamoto sighed and gently touched Gokudera’s hand. “This is about you, isn’t it, Gokudera…”
Gokudera stiffened and pulled his hand away, holding it to his chest as if he had been burned. “Get out,” he said. “Get the fuck out.”
Yamamoto didn’t move. “Gokudera…”
Gokudera sat up and looked over at him. “I said get out, Yamamoto,” he said. “Pack your shit and leave.”
A heavy silence hung in the air of the room as Yamamoto locked eyes with Gokudera. After a moment of staring, he stood up and turned around, stopping at the doorway. He opened his mouth to say something, but eventually closed it and left. Gokudera stayed perfectly still as he sat in bed and listened to Yamamoto packing up his things and leaving, closing the door behind him without another word. When he was gone, he sighed and sank into his bed, too tired to feel anything.
That night, he didn’t eat a bite of food, and when he left his room, there was nothing prepared for him, waiting on the table like he was starting to expect. The television remained silent in the corner, the couch clean and unoccupied.
Gokudera didn’t get a wink of sleep that night as the silence rang in his ears and he couldn’t help but feel like he had made a mistake.
--
“Eggs, cereal, tomatoes, pasta, basil…” Gokudera paused, checking the list again before folding it up in his pocket. “And onions.” Shouldn’t be too hard, of course. He shopped for himself all the time, but holding the basket and picking items off the shelf was proving to be more of a difficult task than he had anticipated. Whatever, he’d push through this and prove just how useful he could be.
Stopping in the middle of the aisle, he frowned and looked around before shaking his head and continuing on with his shopping. He was tired, but he tried not to let it show as he browsed the aisles, taking random ingredients off the shelves and putting them in his basket (with much difficulty). He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched, so he walked slowly and stayed on his guard.
When his phone rang, he set his basket down at the register and answered. “Hello?”
“Gokudera,” Tsuna said, sounding relieved. “I’m glad I could get a hold of you. It’s about the mission.”
Gokudera perked up as he cradled the phone in between his ear and his shoulder, his good hand digging around for his wallet. “Mission?” he asked. Was the Tenth finally coming around and offering him a job?
Tsuna hummed affirmatively. “Yeah, the Saito-gumi mission you and Yamamoto completed. I’m afraid I have some bad news.” He went silent and Gokudera waited for him to continue, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his chest. “Hibari was right.”
“Shit.” Gokudera looked around and paid for his groceries, taking the bag with his good hand. “Did they call for help or something?”
“They did,” Tsuna said with a sigh. “It should be okay. Hibari went to take care of it himself. Everything should be fine, just…watch out.”
Gokudera looked around and left the grocery store, heading in the direction of his apartment. “Why?”
Tsuna paused and sighed again. “They might have put a hit out for you and Yamamoto. Hibari’s taking care of that too. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I can take care of myself, Tenth! I’ll be fine.” He forced a smile. “Besides, I’m almost at my apartment.” He paused and looked around, noticing a few men approaching him. He took a side street.
Suddenly, Tsuna’s voice turned serious. “Where are you?”
“I just left the market by my apartment,” he said quietly, stopping when two men blocked the exit to the alleyway. Another three men came in behind them; all wearing suits and smirks on their faces. One of them had his hand bandaged up and a cut on his face that Gokudera remembered giving him. “Look, I’ll call you back, okay? Don’t worry about me.” He smiled and closed his phone, sliding it into his pocket.
“Walking alone this late in the afternoon? You’ve got balls, Smokin’ Bomb,” one of the men said, tilting his head to the side and cracking his knuckles.
Gokudera’s smirk remained unwavering as he shifted, feeling the gun in its holster, the dynamite in the pockets of his coat. It was all he needed to take down these men, even if it was in broad daylight, in a place where they could be heard. “Just doing my grocery shopping. You’re all looking well. It’s a pity I don’t remember your names.”
One of the men rolled his eyes while a few others frowned. “You will after this. That is, if we leave you alive.”
Gokudera just shrugged nonchalantly as his phone went off in his pocket. He ignored it. “You couldn’t take me down the first time, I doubt you can get me the second time.”
One of the men reached to grab his arm and pull him back, but he jerked away, backing up against a wall to keep himself protected. When another one dived for him, he kicked him back and held up his good hand, smirk still present on his lips. “Is that all you got?”
And then all five of them were on him, tugging at him and trying to pin him down. He pushed and shoved and kicked as best he could, but he wouldn’t run, no matter how many openings he found. To run away was to show weakness, and if he was going to run anywhere, it was going to be into the fray.
He itched to grab his gun or one of his dynamite, but the close range would blow them all to pieces, so he stuck to blows and kicks, managing to keep them away from him for the most part. His bags finally dropped to the ground and he heard the eggs crack. “You’re paying for that,” and then ducked a blow, trying to keep his broken arm close to his body.
Just when it looked like he might have been winning, one of the men kicked his shin, bringing him down to his knees. Shit. The first kick hit him in the gut and sent him doubling over; the next blow was an elbow to the back of his skull. He gritted his teeth and pushed himself back up, but the men only brought him back down again.
“Where’s that bite from earlier, huh? Ready to give up?” One of the men bent down and smiled in his face. Gokudera smiled back and spat at him, hitting him right in the eye.
“I’ll take that as a no,” one of the other men snickered.
“Shut the fuck up,” the other one said as he wiped the spit out of his eye. The next blow hit him right in the jaw, and the beatings continued.
He saw the kick coming for his broken arm and he huddled over it, letting one of the men hit his shoulder instead. It hurt like a bitch and he gritted his teeth even tighter, tasting blood in his mouth. He could let them bruise every bone in his body, but he wouldn’t let them break his arm again. He remembered middle school, fighting their first major enemies when Yamamoto’s arm was still broken, and he remembered watching him protect that with every fiber of his being; watched him protect his future and his dreams.
Yamamoto. Shit, he really was a fool. All of this shit because he was hurt. Because Yamamoto left him behind too when he went to the minors.
The ground beneath his feet was crumbling and shaking. He had no stable ground on which to stand, on which to fight. He rushed into things too fast without thinking because he was a headstrong fool. But Yamamoto was always there, guarding his back and coming in and just the right moments to make sure he got out alive, even if it was by the skin of his teeth. He was there that day, slicing down enemies and sticking close, but Gokudera ran ahead and let himself get hurt, all for his damn pride.
It was like the future all over again, just the two of them against Gamma. Only Yamamoto wasn’t there to cover his back…
Suddenly, a few of the men stopped to turn around. “Look, if it isn’t a Vongola assassin, here to join his friend,” the man who seemed to be their leader said as he crossed his arms over his chest.
Gokudera lifted his head and smirked when he saw Yamamoto standing there with his Shigure Kintoki slung over his shoulder. “Looks like the relief has arrived,” he said with a grin, and swung the shinai, knocking one of the men in the back of the head. Barreling through, he laughed when he reached Gokudera, kicking one of the men back. He grabbed his good hand and helped him up with a smile.
“Can you fight?” he asked, turning back to the men.
Gokudera smirked, despite the pain. His body ached all over and begged him to rest and let Yamamoto finish the job, but he’d also be a damn fool if he didn’t teach these punks a lesson. “You bet your ass I can,” he said, and threw a punch of his own.
“You know, these guys really need to learn to stop messing with the Vongola,” Yamamoto hummed, using his untransformed shinai to knock men back.
“No one ever learns,” Gokudera said, rolling his eyes and going in for another attack, Yamamoto at his back. And it was as if that shaking and crumbling had ceased all together. Maybe this was how it was supposed to be; that when he opened his eyes wide enough, he could see the stable platform beneath him, Yamamoto acting as its main support. He almost hated the idiot for being so reliable, but he knew he couldn’t hold that against him too.
When the men finally ran, Gokudera attempted to give chase, but Yamamoto kept him back. “Let them go,” he said. “It’s over.”
Gokudera watched them run and slumped in Yamamoto’s hold. “This isn’t over. It’s just a symptom.”
Yamamoto leaned against a wall and looked over at Gokudera. “Maybe it is and maybe it isn’t, but it’s over. I know it,” he said, his smile fading as he fell silent. “Gokudera…”
“Save it. You don’t have to say anything. I was the idiot this time,” he mumbled, leaning back against the wall and sliding down it so he was sitting next to the remains of his groceries.
Yamamoto looked down at him. “You were.” He smiled again. “But you were right. I was being overbearing. I just wanted to help…”
Gokudera snorted. “You helped me enough back there. I owe you.”
Yamamoto smiled and went silent for a moment. The two of them stared at the other wall, waiting in the heavy silence, before Yamamoto spoke up again. “I’m done,” he said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shrugged, still smiling. “After my contract’s done, I’m coming back to Namimori,” he said. “I think I’ve been away from home for too long.”
Gokudera sat up and looked over at Yamamoto. “But baseball’s your dream, dumbass. Don’t give it up now.”
Yamamoto laughed, shaking his head. “Now you say that!” He laughed harder. “But no, you were right. I mean, I love it, I really do. Baseball’s always been my passion and my dream, but I love my Family more.” He looked down at Gokudera, his smile softening. “Besides, I feel like I’m missing out on so much when I’m up there. Clearly I need to be around more often.”
Gokudera paused and smiled, rolling his eyes. “Clearly. Dumbass,” he said, pushing himself up and grabbing his grocery bags. “C’mon, let’s get the fuck out of here. I need some ice on my foot.”
Yamamoto grabbed Gokudera and supported him, bringing back that feeling of that stability and relief. “Sounds good to me,” he said.
“And don’t get any funny ideas. You’re not moving back in.”
Yamamoto could only laugh.
--
Gokudera looked down at his arm and smiled as he flexed it. “Feels good to use this thing again,” he said, stuffing it in his pocket to retrieve his carton of cigarettes and his lighter.
Yamamoto laughed and shook his head as he watched Gokudera. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?” he asked, waving the smoke away when Gokudera blew it in his face.
“Whatever.”
Tsuna just smiled as he watched the two of them, a familiar manila folder tucked underneath his arm. “Glad things are finally back to normal,” he said happily. “So I brought you something to celebrate.” The two of them looked up at their boss (and friend) from the back seat of the car, both eager to hear what Tsuna had in mind.
He passed the folder back and relaxed as Gokudera leafed through it, cigarette already stubbed out on the ashtray. Yamamoto leaned closer to get a good look at the file.
“Seems like this mission isn’t over yet,” Tsuna said with a quiet sigh. “The Saito-gumi’s allies are moving in to take over their operation. Hibari may have fixed the last clan, but it looks like this one might be tougher to crack. I was hoping you two could work together and crash their next shipment.”
Gokudera looked up at Tsuna and smirked. “When’s that?”
Tsuna checked his watch and laughed sheepishly. “The information we gathered says ten minutes,” he said. “We’re heading there now, but I have men on standby if you aren’t up for it.”
Yamamoto only laughed, slinging his arm around Gokudera’s shoulder. “I think we’re the perfect fit for the job, right? Show those guys what it’s like to mess with the Family.”
Gokudera elbowed Yamamoto in the waist and rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help but agree. “Count us in, Tenth,” he said, and Tsuna smiled.
“I had a feeling you’d say that. We’re just about there, but we can’t stop, so you’ll have to get out the old fashioned way.”
Gokudera looked out the window and nodded, kicking the door open as the car moved toward their destination. The ground moved underneath them, speeding by as the car slowed down, but refused to stop. “Works for me,” he said, and pushed the folder out of the way to seat himself on the edge, waiting for the right moment to jump.
“You’re insane,” Yamamoto said with a smile, but unbuckled his seat belt anyway.
Gokudera looked back at Yamamoto and smirked. “I know,” he said, and pushed out of the door. This was forward movement; a body in a state of uniform motion, moving at a constant velocity until acted upon by an external unbalanced force. He had a feeling just what that force was, seated behind him and waiting for him to go. So, what else could he do but push off and hit the ground running?
( He's nineteen years old and he still treats life like a drag race. )
AUTHOR:
tempestaPAIRING/CHARACTERS: Yamamoto, Gokudera, Shamal, Bianchi, Tsuna
RATING: PG-13
If there was one thing Gokudera Hayato hated, it was baseball. All throughout middle school and high school, it was “baseball this” and “baseball that.” “Gokudera, did you make it to the game?” or “I have tickets to a game this Saturday, you free?” Time and time again, it was always the same goddamn answer: no, fuck off; I have better shit to do. And Yamamoto would just laugh it off and ask again next week, like he had a short-term memory, like everything was okay.
And then he left. Even after their time in the future, even after all those stupid fucking promises he made to Squalo and to Tsuna, he went on to the minor leagues anyway. And Tsuna smiled and wished him luck, and promised to watch all of his games when he could. Part of Gokudera understood – that small part of him that actually thought Yamamoto was worth something as a member of the Family – but the other part hated him for it, even if the dumbass flew down at every moment’s notice. Even if he was still a Family member.
Gokudera hated watching baseball just as much as he hated hearing about it. It was boring, drawn out, and needlessly annoying. Tsuna knew this, and yet he still invited Gokudera to come watch the games with the rest of the Family. He wanted to say no, to shut himself in his apartment and work on things that mattered, like lab reports and term papers, but it was Tsuna and he could never say no to him. So he came every time and watched Yamamoto’s games and watched him run around in that stupid uniform and do something he was good at. He just couldn’t bring it in him to hate him though, but he could damn well hold it against him.
And then came the phone calls. Week after week, it was the same thing. “I heard you were watching my games,” turned to “So what did you think of the other team’s pitcher? What a fastball!” “How’s school?” became “How’s the family?” until he was asking about everyone individually, somehow satisfied with Gokudera’s one word answers. And then that stupid laugh of his began to grate on his nerves when “I miss you guys” became “I miss you.” Gokudera always hung up after that.
But this time, he couldn’t hang up. Not when Yamamoto Takeshi was standing three feet away from him, grinning like an idiot would after breaking his mother’s best vase. No, all he could do was stand there and stare like he was the idiot because what the hell was Yamamoto doing there?
“Hey!” he said with a laugh, stepping closer to Gokudera, all smiles and sunshine as if he had just seen Gokudera yesterday, but he wasn’t falling for it.
Snapping his mouth closed, he stepped back and away from Yamamoto. “What are you doing here?” he hissed. “Aren’t you still playing for that stupid baseball team in Tokyo?”
Yamamoto just shrugged, lips pulled up in an infuriatingly pleasant smile. “Excited to see me, huh?” He smiled and held up a briefcase. “But I’m here on official business, remember? Or did Tsuna not tell you?” His smile practically turned cheeky as Gokudera made a grab for the briefcase, but he pulled it out of his reach.
“Tell me what?” he asked, still staring up at the briefcase.
Yamamoto looked around, his eyes lingering on the driver waiting in the black sedan behind Gokudera. “You’re here to meet an informant, right?”
Gokudera paused mid-nod and stared. How did Yamamoto know that? More importantly, why did Yamamoto know that? There wasn’t any other reason he’d be in an abandoned parking lot near the airport except to meet someone. He paused again as the pieces clicked together. “You’ve gotta be shitting me.”
“Sorry,” Yamamoto said with a laugh, tucking the briefcase under his arm. “That would be me.”
“When the hell did you get Yakuza connections?”
Yamamoto’s laugh quickly turned sheepish. “Well, that’s a long story. See, Tsuna ended up calling to ask me to get the information from the informant and bring it down, since the guy was in my area. So I’m kinda like the informant of the informant.” He laughed again, this time louder, waving his free hand in front of him. “But none of that matters, I’ve got the information.”
Gokudera rubbed the bridge of his nose as he just barely resisted the urge to punch Yamamoto in the face. Only because he had no justifiable reason to do so (and “because” wasn’t good enough to satisfy the Tenth). Instead, he inhaled slowly and looked up at Yamamoto expectantly. “Hand it over then.” So he could get back in the car and be on his merry way.
Suddenly, he wished he were back at his apartment pouring over his textbooks. At least he would be away from Yamamoto, the last person he wanted to be talking to.
Yamamoto just perked up and smiled. “Oh, right. Sure.” He held the briefcase out and Gokudera snatched it away. He didn’t waste any time in turning on his heel and walking back toward the car waiting for him. Ignoring Yamamoto’s cries, he opened the door and shut it just as quickly.
“Drive,” he said, setting the briefcase in his lap so he could open it. It was probably all of the information he needed to finish this mission quickly and efficiently. More than Yamamoto could relate, anyway. He was just the messenger boy, and was clearly expendable in this situation. Just as the car started to take off, however, Yamamoto’s suitcase landed on the hood and the driver stopped, causing Gokudera to slide forward in his seat.
Yamamoto smiled and leaned against the door, face inches away from Gokudera’s window. He motioned for the driver to roll the window down and Gokudera sat up. “Don’t you dare—” he started, but it was too late, and Yamamoto’s head was through the window as soon as it was down.
“Look, Tsuna wants us to work together for this one,” he said, still wearing that stupid smile. “Now, you can either let me in, or I can follow you there in a taxi and do absolutely nothing to help your cover.”
Gokudera frowned up at him, finger hesitating over the button for the window. Oh, how easy it would be. But, of course, killing Yamamoto would create unnecessary complications within the family, the costs unfortunately outweighing the benefits. He could just keep driving, of course—
“Also, I’m the only one who knows the code for the briefcase.”
--Shit. He grunted and scooted over in his seat while opening the door, his arms crossed over his chest petulantly.
“Thank you.” Yamamoto slid in and got comfortable as the car took off again.
“So brief me then,” Gokudera mumbled, shoving Yamamoto’s briefcase back at him. He caught it with practiced ease and opened it up, pulling a stack of folders out.
Yamamoto closed the briefcase again and began flipping through the documents as he cleared his throat. “It seems we are dealing the Yakuza, though I’m sure you know that much. We were on great terms with the previous clan in Namimori, Hibari made sure of that, but recently another clan has moved in on our territory.”
Gokudera scoffed. “I didn’t need you to tell me that.”
Yamamoto shifted a bit and glanced from the window back to Gokudera. “Whatever happened, it happened quick, not to mention right under our noses. The power’s pretty much shifted hands and this new clan has been operating within our territory for a month.” He sighed, scratching the back of his neck. “Apparently it was very tame at first, they continued the business of the previous clan, but things went south recently. We’re not sure who they’re buying from, but they’ve been selling hard drugs on our streets and have been ‘corrupting’ our population. It’s a problem.”
Gokudera shifted in his seat, looking over at Yamamoto. “Dealing with the Yakuza? Isn’t this Hibari’s area?”
“His hands are a little tied up at the moment,” he said with a shrug and a smile. “Got better things to do than take care of a ‘minor issue’.” He grinned over at Gokudera as he finally put the folders away.
Gokudera rolled his eyes and sighed. “So we’re stuck doing garbage duty,” he said. “You get the orders then?”
Yamamoto looked toward the driver and then back at Gokudera. “Well, Tsuna’s orders were solve the problem by any means necessary. Reborn might’ve suggested twisting a few arms, just to show them who they’re dealing with.”
Gokudera relaxed and smirked for the first time that afternoon, cracking his knuckles as he sat up. “That’s more like it,” he said. “And this is where I come in.”
Yamamoto hesitated, holding up a hand before settling back down again. “Actually, my orders were to go with you to the drop spot. In…” He checked his watch, “an hour and a half.”
And, like magic, Gokudera smile disappeared as he reached into his pocket to pull out a cigarette. He figured this would’ve happened, and he wanted to protest, wanted to put up a fight, but he knew he would only be met with resistance. Yamamoto could be just as stubborn as he was, and the Tenth did tell him he would be working with the informant. Shit.
Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, he nodded and took a drag of his cigarette. “If you drag me down, I won’t hesitate to leave you behind.”
Yamamoto just smiled and leaned back. “I know. And I don’t plan on it.”
“Simple job my ass!” Gokudera shouted as he jumped into the car. Yamamoto slid in behind him, missing his suit jacket and carrying his Shigure Kintoki. The door slammed behind them once they were both safely inside before the car sped off. Yamamoto turned toward Gokudera.
“Let me see it,” he said and Gokudera held his arm close to his chest.
“It’s fucking fine, okay? Let’s just get out of here,” he spat, shooting a glare in Yamamoto’s direction.
Yamamoto’s frown deepened. “Give it here, Gokudera,” he said, reaching out to gently pull Gokudera’s arm away from his chest. He tried to struggle, but it hurt too fucking much, so he eventually gave in. Yamamoto pulled his jacket up and he hissed, wanting to pull his arm back, but Yamamoto’s hand was on his shoulder, steadying it.
“It’s broken,” Yamamoto mumbled.
“No shit, Sherlock. I’ll just have Shamal set it and I’ll be fine,” he said, pulling his arm away. This time, Yamamoto let him. It stung like a bitch, his arm was throbbing and he felt like he was going to throw up, but he held it in. He just wanted to close his eyes for five seconds, but it didn’t seem like Yamamoto was going to let him, the way he was fidgeting incessantly, checking behind him to see if they were being followed.
The situation could have been a lot worse, he would admit that much (especially considering they went alone), but it also could have been a lot better. It figured they had dogs.
“And fucking settle down, they aren’t gonna be following us.”
Yamamoto turned back to Gokudera and smiled, though there was something off about it. He didn’t care enough to place it. “You’re right. We took pretty good care of them, huh?” He laughed, settling in his chair. “Just like old times.”
Gokudera clicked his tongue and gripped the top of his arm tighter, trying to ignore the dull throbbing in his arm. “Just like old times.” Only Yamamoto was like the one puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit in anymore. And he did that to himself.
The rest of the car ride was spent in silence, though Gokudera knew Yamamoto was watching him. He kept his eyes closed and tried to concentrate, using all of his willpower not to shout or move around or break the bone even further. He fought the urge to break the idiot’s nose and blame the whole thing on him, but he knew he couldn’t. Not yet, not now (but when had he ever waited for the opportune moment?).
As soon as the car pulled up to the base, he kicked the door open and stormed out, clutching his arm to his chest. He ignored Yamamoto’s protests as he made a beeline for the infirmary, a place he generally avoided at all costs. Normal scrapes, cuts, and burns were injuries he had learned to take care of on his own, late at night in his bedroom when the skin was fresh and cuts still stung. Trial and error wasn’t the best method, but at least it worked, with the help of a medical dictionary.
But this was different. He couldn’t just push his bone back into place and keep operating like nothing was wrong. He would’ve liked too, but even he wasn’t stubborn enough to do something that dumb. Gokudera knew he had to keep the forward momentum, so he had to suck it up and take it, because there was no way in hell he was letting a broken arm stop him from doing his job.
Standing outside of the infirmary, he looked at the door and took a few deep, calming breaths. It didn’t work as well as he had hoped, but he also had a few factors working against him (mainly his throbbing arm and pounding head). Finally, he opened the door and stepped in, fully prepared to find Shamal seated at his desk with a young woman in his lap. She had a blush on her cheeks as he whispered something hot and private in her ear, his fingers traveling up and down the expanse of her arm. Neither of them seemed to notice as Gokudera stood there in the doorway, suit stained with blood (that wasn’t his) and clutching his arm to his chest like it would disappear if he let go.
He finally cleared his throat and the woman looked up, her blush deepening. Looking down at Shamal, she finally pushed away and fled the room. The doctor stood up and chased her to the door, stopping just at the frame as he called out her name. It sounded Japanese, but Gokudera wasn’t paying attention.
“You owe me for this,” Shamal said as he shut the door and walked back into the room. “Do you know how hard it was to finally coax that girl out of her shell? It’s going to take me another three weeks just to get her to look at me again.”
“I don’t give two shits about your potential sexual conquests,” Gokudera snapped. “Fix it.” He thrust out his arm, wincing when he felt a familiar jolt of pain.
Shamal didn’t even spare a passing glance at Gokudera’s injury, instead walking across the room and sitting on his chair again. He swiveled it around and kicked his feet up on the desk, pulling out an issue of Penthouse and opening it straight to the centerfold. “Fix it yourself.”
“It’s broken, asshole,” Gokudera said. “And you’re the only doctor here, so fix it.”
Shamal sighed, turning the page of his magazine and pausing to enjoy the view. “You’re really no good with flattery,” he said. “It’s a wonder you’re even sent on diplomacy missions. You need to find a better angle when it comes to asking for favors.”
Gokudera was about ten seconds away from sticking a piece of dynamite down Shamal’s throat. “This isn’t a favor, and I swear I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” Shamal asked. “Kill me in my sleep? Cut my throat? You’d be dead, or worse, faster than you could try.” He spun the chair around and closed his magazine, looking up at Gokudera. “Now, you’re the one looking for help, which surprises me more than anything. So either clean up your act and ask nicely, or get out.”
Gokudera glared down at Shamal as he took a deep breath. He was not in the mood for this. Any other time, he could’ve swallowed his pride and asked for help, but he was feeling like shit and half-tempted to go find a real doctor for once in his life. But he did it anyway, free hand clenched and teeth gritted. “Shamal, could you please look at my arm?”
Shamal’s lips pulled up in a thin smile. “You’ve never been one for sugar coating words,” he said. “But no, you know I only operate on women.”
“Bastard!” Gokudera shouted, moving just enough to send another jolt of pain shooting up into his shoulder. “What the hell do you want? Bribery? Or are you just going to waste my time until I pass out?”
Shamal shrugged and tossed his magazine onto his desk. “Bribery, hm? Well, that’s a first. Try me then.”
Gokudera wracked his brain for something, anything, that Shamal might want. Money, weapons, favors – he could get those things easily, he didn’t need Gokudera for them. “I’ll find you a fucking date or something.”
Shamal was silent for a moment as if contemplating the offer. “Your sister. Get me a date with your sister,” he said with a smile.
He wanted to say no, to ball his good first and throw the first punch. This was Bianchi, his sister, and there was no way in hell he’d throw her to this particular wolf, even if she was the embodiment of so many painful years and memories. But she was Bianchi. She could handle herself against this guy. She’d just probably never forgive him. He never said it had to be a successful date. “Fine, I’ll get you a date with my sister, now are you gonna do this or not?”
“Gladly.”
Shamal was true to his word and was quick to start, beginning with the x-rays and analyzing them thoroughly. He said it was an “oblique fracture of the proximal Ulna,” or a diagonal fracture along his upper forearm. “You’re lucky it only broke in one place,” he said, looking over at Gokudera out of the corner of his eye. “And you’re lucky it’s a clean break too.”
Gokudera scoffed.
Considering how clean the break was, Shamal only had to set it because applying the cast. Gokudera protested at the use of any kind of painkiller, but the doctor forced it on it anyway. “Like hell if I’m going to have to listen to you scream,” he said with a smirk. Gokudera didn’t protest for the rest of the operation. It still hurt like hell.
He only grumbled under his breath when Shamal applied the plaster cast, starting at his wrist and finishing past his elbow, topping it off with a black finish (“for added effect”). Gokudera looked down at it and sighed, moving his arm and hating the way he couldn’t bend it.
“How long do I have to deal with this?” he asked as he grabbed a new shirt and slid it on over the cast. He left the sleeve unbuttoned and rolled it up with much difficulty.
“I give it a month,” Shamal said, sitting back down in his chair.
Gokudera looked up, face paling. “A month!?”
“—Three weeks tops, if you’re lucky. Just keep the use to a minimum, wear the sling whenever necessary. Make sure you cover it when you shower, you don’t want any water getting in the cast. Oh, and drink lots of milk too.” He smirked.
Gokudera got up and grabbed his things, shooting a particularly nasty glare at Shamal before he made his way toward the door. “Thanks for the help, old man,” he said.
Shamal laughed, kicking his legs back up on the desk and opening his magazine. “Whatever, kid. Just don’t forget my date with your sister, or I’ll have to get serious with you.” The threat hung in the air, implications left unsaid. Gokudera knew enough to know that Shamal meant business, and he wasn’t one to go back on his word. Well, at least he didn’t have a deadline.
Gokudera struggled to hold his keys up to the door and hold his bag at the same time. He wasn’t used to this, nor did he think he would ever get used to this (three weeks was hardly a time to adjust to something anyway). After some expert maneuvering, however, he finally managed to slide the keys into the lock and turn them enough so he could kick the door open. He let out a quiet sigh of relief as he set his bag down inside of his apartment so he could retrieve the keys and close the door behind him. Home, sweet home. He had longed for this moment all day.
It had been a long day. A long, hard day, full of people ready to stick themselves so far into his side he’d need more than tweezers to get them out. But this day had its ups, and seeing Tsuna was one of them. Their interactions had been limited for the past three months considering Reborn’s “plans” for him and all of the work he was doing, a lot of it in Italy. Gokudera had begged Reborn to let him go, but Tsuna told him his place was in Japan, because he needed someone to look after the Family. He had taken that job with pride. But Tsuna was back and he had the chance to see him, even if most of it was spent being fussed at. That was enough for him.
Gokduera set his keys in the bowl next to his door before removing his shoes and setting them next to the nice dress shoes someone had left by the door. He took one step into the apartment before pausing and backtracking. Who the hell left dress shoes in his house? His eyes immediately moved back toward the direction of his kitchen, hand reaching for a bomb.
“Ah, Gokudera! Welcome home,” a sickeningly familiar voice said cheerfully, as Yamamoto poked his head out of the kitchen. He had changed out of his bloodied suit and into something clean, one of Gokudera’s aprons fitted nicely over the attire. He looked like a part of one of the kitchen sets he had bought when he moved in from his studio so he could be closer to school (and to Tsuna).
Gokudera, however, did not look so happy to see the other. “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, dropping his bag again and stalking into the kitchen. “Where the hell did you get a key?”
Yamamoto’s smile turned sheepish as he patted the front pocket of his slacks. “Tsuna gave me your spare,” he said. “I went to give him the full report and he gave me your key. Didn’t he tell you?”
Gokudera wanted to snap at Yamamoto and tell him no, the Tenth did not tell him that he let him borrow his key. Why would he even do that? But he kept his mouth shut and took a deep breath in through his nose. And then out through his mouth. “You’re not staying here,” he said, pointing toward the door with his good arm. “Get out.”
Yamamoto continued to look sheepish as he looked from Gokudera, to the door, and back to Gokudera again. “Please, it’ll just be for a few days. I don’t need you to feed me, or clothe me, or even give me a bed. I just need a place to stay.”
“Bullshit,” Gokudera said, walking further into his apartment and toward Yamamoto. “Can’t you get a hotel for a few days or something? Doesn’t your dad still live back home? Your shit’s still there.”
Yamamoto looked straight into Gokudera’s eyes as he placed his hands on his hips and sighed. “It was a last minute trip, and I don’t want to bother my dad, okay?” What the hell was that supposed to mean? Gokudera knew that Yamamoto’s father would probably have a heart attack from sheer happiness if he got to see his son, but he didn’t say that out loud. “Just for a few days. Please?”
Every bone in Gokudera’s body told him to say no. His mind screamed at him that this was an awful idea, that he’d hate him even more by the end of those “few days.” He knew it himself that nothing good could come out of this living situation. He didn’t care what Yamamoto’s problems were with his father, and he didn’t care what excuses he was making not to get a hotel. He only cared that this was Yamamoto, in his apartment, his last bastion of sanity, and he didn’t want to taint his last sanctuary.
But Tsuna gave him that key, and he knew that was almost like an order. He could almost hear the Tenth’s voice telling him to “play nice” and “put up with Yamamoto, please.” He didn’t want to disappoint him again, not after his last mistake.
“Fine,” he snapped, grabbing his bag again and walking past Yamamoto and into his apartment. “But keep the volume to a minimum. You want something, you’re gonna have to wait. I have class on weekdays and a shitton of homework. If you disturb me, I won’t hesitate to kick your ass back out on the streets, you hear?”
Yamamoto nodded, smiling for some weird reason that Gokudera couldn’t place. “Thanks a ton, Gokudera,” he said. “You won’t regret it.”
Gokudera had a feeling he would. “Whatever,” he mumbled. “Just leave me alone when I’m doing homework. Or anything else. Just…don’t bother me.” Yamamoto nodded in understanding. Gokudera paused and looked around, taking in a deep breath. He had never given a tour of his apartment (except to Tsuna, of course, but that had been brief after he had moved in). He wasn’t sure what to say.
“Bathroom’s down the hall, shower’s free if I’m not in it. Help yourself to anything n the kitchen, I just got groceries a few days ago. I do my homework in the living room, so keep it down. If you wanna sleep, you’re gonna have to wait.” Yamamoto nodded again, a little too enthusiastically for Gokudera. He sighed in annoyance and pushed past him into the apartment.
“I was thinking about cooking something simple for dinner,” he said, though the smells in the kitchen told him he had done more than just think about it. “So that’ll be ready in a half hour, maybe forty-five minutes.”
Gokudera grunted in response, pushing into his room and dying to just lie down in his bed and fall asleep. But he had chemistry homework that needed finishing and a lab report due the next day that he hadn’t even started. He blamed Yamamoto for that too.
“Do whatever the hell you want,” he said, grabbing his textbooks and sitting down at the kitchen table. Any normal person would’ve called in sick, taken a few days off from school, but he didn’t have that luxury. He didn’t even have the choice to crawl back in bed and sleep until he felt better (which would probably take a while).
Yamamoto, on the other hand, seemed to take that as a reasonable answer and moved back into the kitchen, cooking with the least amount of noise as humanly possible. When he was done, he portioned the food onto plates and set one in front of Gokudera. He sat across from him and ate, reading the sports section of the newspaper like this was what he did every night, before cleaning up the dishes and falling asleep on the couch. Gokudera paid him no mind, not even noting his presence as he immersed himself in his schoolwork and didn’t come out until two in the morning.
That night, after the painkillers wore off, he found himself unable to sleep. The throbbing in his arm returned, pounding in his head as he stared up at his ceiling. He could only think of equations and formulas as he laid there and stared into the darkness, tossing and turning until he eventually settled into a restless sleep.
It had started out like any normal meeting; all of the guardians had taken their respectful seats around the polished table, each with their own reasons for being there. They were all dressed up as well, with the exception of Gokudera, who could only fit so much over his bulky cast (a new addition to his personage that Hibari and Ryohei were quick to bring up). Their tailored suits fit them all well, but there was something about the way the fabric hung off of their developing bodies that made them look odd, like they hadn’t quite grown into them yet. They were still in that transitional phase, most of them barely even twenty years old, and they had graduated and moved on with their lives, but most of them stayed behind, Yamamoto being the only exception.
When Tsuna finally entered the room, everyone settled down and took their seats. Tsuna sat down at the head of the table and began his report the same way he always did – with a summary of the events of the previous week. The guardians sat silently through that, a few occasionally interjecting when it was appropriate, but Tsuna let it slide, looking less and less stressed as the meeting went on. And then he finally looked around and smiled. “And Yamamoto and Gokudera were successful in intercepting a shipment of drugs being brought in by the new Clan.” And Gokudera felt his heart sink into his chest.
And that’s when the meeting went from controlled to crazed. It had started with an interruption from Hibari, who wasted no time in commenting on their unorthodox methods. Gokudera was quick to jump this own defense and it escalated from there until everyone was shouting to be heard over one another, Tsuna included. Yamamoto was the only exception as he sat at Tsuna’s left side and listened, eyes darting around the room.
“Everyone, quite down!” Tsuna tried to shout, but the rest of the guardians were already locked in a heated debate, some quick to point fingers, others quick to jump to their defense, even if none of them knew the situation. Gokudera tried to calm them down as well, but even he was too mad to do it; too defensive to step down. Inhaling deeply, he finally slammed his good hand down on the table repeatedly.
The pounding was only amplified by the ring around his pinky; a sound that reverberated in the large room like a judge’s gavel. The other guardians finally looked over, their conversations trickling to a halt. “Finally,” he said, and sat down again with a huff. Tsuna took his hands out of his hair and smiled nervously.
“Thank you, Gokudera,” he said, hands smoothing down the wrinkles in his suit jacket. “I appreciate all of your input, really, but Yamamoto and Gokudera took care of it, and it shouldn’t be a problem for a while.”
Hibari was quick to respond, and it was obvious how on-edge he was being stuck in a room with so many people for so long. “It was a symptom,” he snapped, looking bored as he stood up. “You may have ‘cured’ a symptom at the risk of your own lives, but you haven’t fixed the problem at its source. Where were they getting these drugs from?”
“A clan in Sapporo,” Yamamoto said, speaking up for the first time that day. “And I’m almost positive they have more connections.”
“Exactly,” Hibari said. “And so you’ve run in and caused a mess. What has that done other than make you more useless than you already are?” He looked at Gokudera as he said this, his face bored, tone languid.
Gokudera stood up and clenched his fists. “If you fucking came here to fight…”
Tsuna rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed. “That’s enough, Hibari,” he said. “I have special orders for you, so you can leave if you want.” Hibari only responded with a curt nod before he was out of the room, the door closing behind him. Tsuna just relaxed and ran a hand through his hair. “Anyone else?” The room remained silent. “That’s what I thought.”
He continued on with the meeting uninterrupted after that, finally concluded with the weekly assignments. As he passed them out, Ryohei and Chrome filtered out of the room, leaving only Yamamoto and Gokudera behind.
“Since you’re in town, I have a special mission for you,” Tsuna said with a small smile, sliding a file toward Yamamoto. “Read it, it should be really easy, but I’m entrusting it to you. I have a second mission as well, it’s also inside of the file.” Yamamoto opened it and smiled, leafing through the file’s contents. When it was done, he got up and left, closing the door behind him.
Gokudera was always the last to get his assignments, so he sat up when Yamamoto was gone, ready to receive whatever the Tenth had for him. Tsuna looked over at Gokudera and hesitantly pulled something out of his suit jacket, sliding it over to Gokudera.
He picked it up and the smile immediately dropped from his face. “What’s this?”
Tsuna shifted in his seat, turning it to face Gokudera. “It’s a three week paid vacation,” he said slowly. “For your arm.”
Gokudera set it down slowly and looked up at Tsuna. “Is…this some kind of joke?” he asked. Was the Tenth tossing him away, calling him useless? “It was a clean break, I can still fight, I can still do something.”
Tsuna slowly shook his head, placing a hand on Gokudera’s good shoulder and squeezing. “Gokudera, I know you’re not useless, but I don’t want you to exert yourself. If you injure yourself further and cause permanent damage, well…” He paused, looking Gokudera in the eye. “I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.
“Tenth…”
Tsuna didn’t let him finish. “I know this seems bad, and it isn’t that I don’t trust you, but I need you to take some time off and concentrate on school, okay? It’s only for a few weeks, until you get your cast off. Then I’ll have a ton of missions for you to work on.” He paused. “And I might even have a job for you this weekend, if you want to come in and help me with some things around the base.”
Gokudera only nodded and stood up. Tsuna’s kindness astounded him sometimes, but he still couldn’t help but feel like everything that was said that meeting was right; that it was Gokudera’s fault for compromising the mission. “Thank you, Tenth,” he said with a forced smile and left the room to go back to his apartment. He didn’t feel like sticking around, especially since he had nothing to do there.
When he got back into his apartment, he locked himself up in his room and poured over his textbooks, distracting himself with laws and rules and formulas until his mind was full to bursting. He couldn’t help but think he was being tossed aside. That he was completely useless. He had never taken a vacation before in his life, and he had sustained injuries much worse than this, so why now?
Closing his textbook, he laid down in his bed and stared up at the ceiling again, running the actions of that single moment through his head over and over, trying to figure out what had he done wrong. He remembered it clearly, pushing on ahead of Yamamoto to make the first strike. He remembers every punch he threw, every pull of the trigger he made, ever bomb tossed into the fray. He didn’t remember seeing Yamamoto at all, too focused on his mission to care to find him. And then that sickening crack… How could he have been so careless?
He closed his eyes and settled back down on the bed, too tired to stay awake, but too awake to fall asleep. So he laid there and ran the scene through his head over and over until he couldn’t anymore. He didn’t hear Yamamoto enter the apartment and he didn’t even think about him outside of the peripherals of his thought, which he ran into the ground and eventually gave up on. He had made a mistake, he knew it, he just couldn’t figure out where.
When he got up to leave the room, he opened his door to find a plate of food waiting for him on the kitchen table, Yamamoto asleep in front of the television. Gokudera rolled his eyes and turned it off, not bothering to throw a blanket over the other as he took his food in the kitchen to reheat it, and finish his homework. He could come back to it later when he had more time to think.
A “few days” eventually became a “week and a half” as Yamamoto made himself at home in Gokudera’s apartment. Gokudera hadn’t questioned his presence at first, too absorbed in getting his schoolwork done and enjoying his “vacation” (which he couldn’t really enjoy at all). His days were spent in class, evenings inside, locked away in his room or pouring over textbooks on the kitchen table. Yamamoto faded nicely into the background for the first week, spending his days and nights doing work for Tsuna, and coming home only to make dinner and pass out in front of the television.
And then, before he knew it, a week had already passed and Yamamoto’s silent spell had run dry. He talked animatedly about his missions as he moved around the kitchen, asked Gokudera questions about his schoolwork and what university life was like. He also talked a lot about baseball, which wasn’t surprising at all. In fact, it was to be expected.
Gokudera knew Yamamoto’s silence was too good to be true. For the Tenth, he chanted to himself. Because that was the only thought keeping him from snapping and killing Yamamoto.
“So, you should’ve been there, Takeru did the funniest thing at practice a few months ago,” Yamamoto said as he sat down to lunch with Gokudera, setting a plate of food in front of him. Gokudera didn’t touch it, his nose buried in a chemistry textbook. “When the pitcher was winding up, he started doing this—”
“I don’t care, Yamamoto,” Gokudera mumbled, eyes still glued to his book. “I’m studying.”
A brief look of disappointment passed over Yamamoto’s face before he was back to smiling. “Sorry,” he said, and then returned to eating. “You gonna eat that?”
“Later.” Gokudera turned the page and kept reading, tapping the eraser of his pencil against the table. His arm hung at his side, the sling loose on his shoulder.
“You should eat, Gokudera. It’s important to have energy, which will help you heal faster.”
Gokudera turned another page. “What the hell do you know?”
Yamamoto’s smile widened. “I broke my arm once too, remember?”
Gokudera paused, his pencil hovering over the table as he pretended to read. Of course he remembered. He barely knew the idiot and he had been secondhand embarrassed from that suicide attempt on top of the school. He seemed to be one of the only ones who remembered that Yamamoto had tried to kill himself, and he tried not to. “Whatever. Just stay out of my damn business.”
Yamamoto frowned and opened his mouth to say something when the door to Gokudera’s apartment burst open. Gokudera immediately sat up grabbed his book, eyes moving toward the door.
“Hayato,” called the sickly sweet voice of his sister, Bianchi. Gokudera felt something twist in his stomach as he got up, from the table, though he wasn’t sure what he would do at this point. There never was an easy escape when his sister was involved. He had no choice but to turn toward the front door as she kicked it closed and walked in, lips set in a thin line, goggles fastened securely over her eyes.
“So tell me, baby brother, why am I expected to go on a date with Shamal?” she asked, arms crossed over her chest.
Gokudera steeled himself, standing up straight so he was eye-to-eye with her. Yamamoto just watched from his seat at the table. “Because he asked for one.”
“Bullshit.”
“Fuck, I was in pain, my arm was broken and he was the only goddamn doctor in the room,” Gokudera said, pressing his free hand to his chest. “He asked, what else could I say.”
Bianchi sighed, rubbing her temple. “No, Hayato. You could’ve said no.”
Gokudera threw his good arm up and stalked over to the couch. “And then what, huh? What about me?”
“It’s always about you, isn’t it?” Bianchi followed him. “You didn’t stop to think about how I’d feel about this, did you?”
Yamamoto sat up a bit. “It’s just one date, you know.”
“Stay out of his, Yamamoto,” Bianchi said, holding her hand up and moving over to Gokudera. “You’re such a selfish little punk.”
“What the fuck do you know?” Gokudera asked, turning around and looking back at his sister. “You think I should’ve just waltzed out there and found some random doctor, huh? We have a Family one for a reason. Blame him for being so damn picky on who he operates on.”
“Trust me, I do,” Bianchi said. “But this isn’t about Shamal.”
“This has everything to do with Shamal!”
“No, little brother, this is about you,” Bianchi started, “and your selfishness. You think I haven’t heard how rash you’ve been acting lately.” Yamamoto sunk into his chair. “You’re a damn fool for running into that warehouse without thinking, and you have no one to blame for your injuries but yourself. And now you’re dragging me into it.”
Gokudera sighed, his face flushed. Part of him knew she was right, but he’d be damned if he admitted to it. “Fuck, okay, whatever. I’ll keep you out of my ‘problems.’ So, can you just go on the date?”
“No,” Bianchi said with a simple shrug.
“I don’t have time for this,” Gokudera said, storming toward his bedroom with the full intention of locking himself inside. He did not want to deal with this right now.
Bianchi only smirked. “Oh, you have all the time in the world for this, Hayato. What are you doing right now, studying? I know your uselessness has put you on a month-long vacation.”
Gokudera felt something within him snap. He had no idea what he had done to deserve this, everything that had happened to him within the past month, starting with the arrival of Yamamoto. The world had something against him, he knew it, but there was no way he was going to stop moving forward, no matter how many obstacles were in his way.
He turned around and stared at Bianchi. His mouth opened to protest, to say something to defend what little honor he seemed to have left at this point, but when their eyes connected, he felt a sharp pain in his stomach and he doubled over. She only smiled as she set her goggles down on the kitchen table and approached Gokudera. Yamamoto stood up.
“If I went on that date, you wouldn’t learn anything,” she said, crouching down near him and staring him straight in the eyes. He felt the bile rise in his throat and quickly looked at the floor. Darkness seemed into the corners of his vision and he felt his legs buckle. “I’m sorry, Hayato.”
He barely had time to get up before he felt himself lose consciousness. The last thing he heard before he passed out was someone calling his name before warmth enveloped his entire body.
When he came to, he was laying down in his bed, the blinds closed and the lights off. Sitting up, he rubbed his face with his right hand and looked around. A wave of nausea hit him like a punch in the gut and he doubled over again with a quiet groan. A few seconds later, the door creaked open and Yamamoto walked in carrying a glass of water.
“You’re awake,” he said with a small smile as he sat on the edge of Gokudera’s bed. “Here, drink this.”
Gokudera had half a mind to hit the glass out of his hands, but his throat felt dry and he wanted to get the taste of bile out of his mouth. Reaching out, he took the glass and said nothing as he drank.
Yamamoto shifted a bit, his smile softening. “I talked to her before she left,” he said. “After everything calmed down, she said she’d go on the date, but only this time, but if you do it again, she’d kill you.” He laughed, like there was nothing wrong in repeating a death threat. It made Gokudera’s headache even worse.
He didn’t care what his sister did. He hoped she poisoned Shamal’s food while they were out. That would at least take care of one of his problems. The other one, however, was still sitting on his bed. “Stay out of my business,” he said, taking another sip of water before setting the empty glass down on his bedside table. “I don’t need your help.”
Yamamoto’s smile slipped. “Look, I just wanted to help…”
“You’ve helped enough,” Gokudera snapped, pulling his legs up to his chest. “You’ve been here for two weeks and all you’ve been doing is ‘helping.’ Yeah, well, maybe I don’t want help.”
“What you want and what you need seem to be two completely different things.”
Gokudera stiffened. “What the hell do you know?” he asked. “First Bianchi comes in here and preaches at me, and now you? What the hell do you know about wants and needs? You’re following your whims all the time, why the hell can’t I follow mine?”
Yamamoto remained silent and Gokudera continued. “Two weeks, Yamamoto. Two weeks and you’re parading around like you live here, like you’re some kind of permanent addition to my life. Well, you don’t, and you aren’t. And you never fucking will be. You think you can just come in here and pretend like nothing’s wrong; like you didn’t leave the Tenth for some stupid game?”
Yamamoto immediately sat up. “Since when was this about my career?” he asked, looking hurt and confused. “This was never about my career. And you’re the only one holding onto that, Gokudera. It’s not like I left the country. It’s not like I moved halfway across Japan to play baseball. I stayed close for a reason and Tsuna knows it!”
Gokudera scoffed. “You still fucking left,” he said. “You’re never around and you call like we’re still in high school. Like we’re fucking friends or something.”
The room was silent for a moment as Yamamoto stared at him, all traces of a smile gone from his face. “This isn’t about Tsuna, is it?” he asked, voice quiet.
“No, this is,” Gokudera snapped. “How could you leave the Tenth, after everything he had done for you?”
Yamamoto shook his head. “I haven’t left anyone,” he said. “Why am I denied a future while everyone else gets to pursue theirs? Ryohei’s boxing, you’re at a university. Even Hibari’s working, so why am I the only one you single out? Do you really hate me that much?”
His words struck a chord within Gokudera. But he didn’t hate him. He couldn’t hate him, no matter what he did, or said, or didn’t do. He could only hold onto his feelings of contempt and keep him at arm’s length. He didn’t say anything as he looked at the window, though he couldn’t even see out of that.
Yamamoto sighed and gently touched Gokudera’s hand. “This is about you, isn’t it, Gokudera…”
Gokudera stiffened and pulled his hand away, holding it to his chest as if he had been burned. “Get out,” he said. “Get the fuck out.”
Yamamoto didn’t move. “Gokudera…”
Gokudera sat up and looked over at him. “I said get out, Yamamoto,” he said. “Pack your shit and leave.”
A heavy silence hung in the air of the room as Yamamoto locked eyes with Gokudera. After a moment of staring, he stood up and turned around, stopping at the doorway. He opened his mouth to say something, but eventually closed it and left. Gokudera stayed perfectly still as he sat in bed and listened to Yamamoto packing up his things and leaving, closing the door behind him without another word. When he was gone, he sighed and sank into his bed, too tired to feel anything.
That night, he didn’t eat a bite of food, and when he left his room, there was nothing prepared for him, waiting on the table like he was starting to expect. The television remained silent in the corner, the couch clean and unoccupied.
Gokudera didn’t get a wink of sleep that night as the silence rang in his ears and he couldn’t help but feel like he had made a mistake.
“Eggs, cereal, tomatoes, pasta, basil…” Gokudera paused, checking the list again before folding it up in his pocket. “And onions.” Shouldn’t be too hard, of course. He shopped for himself all the time, but holding the basket and picking items off the shelf was proving to be more of a difficult task than he had anticipated. Whatever, he’d push through this and prove just how useful he could be.
Stopping in the middle of the aisle, he frowned and looked around before shaking his head and continuing on with his shopping. He was tired, but he tried not to let it show as he browsed the aisles, taking random ingredients off the shelves and putting them in his basket (with much difficulty). He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched, so he walked slowly and stayed on his guard.
When his phone rang, he set his basket down at the register and answered. “Hello?”
“Gokudera,” Tsuna said, sounding relieved. “I’m glad I could get a hold of you. It’s about the mission.”
Gokudera perked up as he cradled the phone in between his ear and his shoulder, his good hand digging around for his wallet. “Mission?” he asked. Was the Tenth finally coming around and offering him a job?
Tsuna hummed affirmatively. “Yeah, the Saito-gumi mission you and Yamamoto completed. I’m afraid I have some bad news.” He went silent and Gokudera waited for him to continue, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his chest. “Hibari was right.”
“Shit.” Gokudera looked around and paid for his groceries, taking the bag with his good hand. “Did they call for help or something?”
“They did,” Tsuna said with a sigh. “It should be okay. Hibari went to take care of it himself. Everything should be fine, just…watch out.”
Gokudera looked around and left the grocery store, heading in the direction of his apartment. “Why?”
Tsuna paused and sighed again. “They might have put a hit out for you and Yamamoto. Hibari’s taking care of that too. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I can take care of myself, Tenth! I’ll be fine.” He forced a smile. “Besides, I’m almost at my apartment.” He paused and looked around, noticing a few men approaching him. He took a side street.
Suddenly, Tsuna’s voice turned serious. “Where are you?”
“I just left the market by my apartment,” he said quietly, stopping when two men blocked the exit to the alleyway. Another three men came in behind them; all wearing suits and smirks on their faces. One of them had his hand bandaged up and a cut on his face that Gokudera remembered giving him. “Look, I’ll call you back, okay? Don’t worry about me.” He smiled and closed his phone, sliding it into his pocket.
“Walking alone this late in the afternoon? You’ve got balls, Smokin’ Bomb,” one of the men said, tilting his head to the side and cracking his knuckles.
Gokudera’s smirk remained unwavering as he shifted, feeling the gun in its holster, the dynamite in the pockets of his coat. It was all he needed to take down these men, even if it was in broad daylight, in a place where they could be heard. “Just doing my grocery shopping. You’re all looking well. It’s a pity I don’t remember your names.”
One of the men rolled his eyes while a few others frowned. “You will after this. That is, if we leave you alive.”
Gokudera just shrugged nonchalantly as his phone went off in his pocket. He ignored it. “You couldn’t take me down the first time, I doubt you can get me the second time.”
One of the men reached to grab his arm and pull him back, but he jerked away, backing up against a wall to keep himself protected. When another one dived for him, he kicked him back and held up his good hand, smirk still present on his lips. “Is that all you got?”
And then all five of them were on him, tugging at him and trying to pin him down. He pushed and shoved and kicked as best he could, but he wouldn’t run, no matter how many openings he found. To run away was to show weakness, and if he was going to run anywhere, it was going to be into the fray.
He itched to grab his gun or one of his dynamite, but the close range would blow them all to pieces, so he stuck to blows and kicks, managing to keep them away from him for the most part. His bags finally dropped to the ground and he heard the eggs crack. “You’re paying for that,” and then ducked a blow, trying to keep his broken arm close to his body.
Just when it looked like he might have been winning, one of the men kicked his shin, bringing him down to his knees. Shit. The first kick hit him in the gut and sent him doubling over; the next blow was an elbow to the back of his skull. He gritted his teeth and pushed himself back up, but the men only brought him back down again.
“Where’s that bite from earlier, huh? Ready to give up?” One of the men bent down and smiled in his face. Gokudera smiled back and spat at him, hitting him right in the eye.
“I’ll take that as a no,” one of the other men snickered.
“Shut the fuck up,” the other one said as he wiped the spit out of his eye. The next blow hit him right in the jaw, and the beatings continued.
He saw the kick coming for his broken arm and he huddled over it, letting one of the men hit his shoulder instead. It hurt like a bitch and he gritted his teeth even tighter, tasting blood in his mouth. He could let them bruise every bone in his body, but he wouldn’t let them break his arm again. He remembered middle school, fighting their first major enemies when Yamamoto’s arm was still broken, and he remembered watching him protect that with every fiber of his being; watched him protect his future and his dreams.
Yamamoto. Shit, he really was a fool. All of this shit because he was hurt. Because Yamamoto left him behind too when he went to the minors.
The ground beneath his feet was crumbling and shaking. He had no stable ground on which to stand, on which to fight. He rushed into things too fast without thinking because he was a headstrong fool. But Yamamoto was always there, guarding his back and coming in and just the right moments to make sure he got out alive, even if it was by the skin of his teeth. He was there that day, slicing down enemies and sticking close, but Gokudera ran ahead and let himself get hurt, all for his damn pride.
It was like the future all over again, just the two of them against Gamma. Only Yamamoto wasn’t there to cover his back…
Suddenly, a few of the men stopped to turn around. “Look, if it isn’t a Vongola assassin, here to join his friend,” the man who seemed to be their leader said as he crossed his arms over his chest.
Gokudera lifted his head and smirked when he saw Yamamoto standing there with his Shigure Kintoki slung over his shoulder. “Looks like the relief has arrived,” he said with a grin, and swung the shinai, knocking one of the men in the back of the head. Barreling through, he laughed when he reached Gokudera, kicking one of the men back. He grabbed his good hand and helped him up with a smile.
“Can you fight?” he asked, turning back to the men.
Gokudera smirked, despite the pain. His body ached all over and begged him to rest and let Yamamoto finish the job, but he’d also be a damn fool if he didn’t teach these punks a lesson. “You bet your ass I can,” he said, and threw a punch of his own.
“You know, these guys really need to learn to stop messing with the Vongola,” Yamamoto hummed, using his untransformed shinai to knock men back.
“No one ever learns,” Gokudera said, rolling his eyes and going in for another attack, Yamamoto at his back. And it was as if that shaking and crumbling had ceased all together. Maybe this was how it was supposed to be; that when he opened his eyes wide enough, he could see the stable platform beneath him, Yamamoto acting as its main support. He almost hated the idiot for being so reliable, but he knew he couldn’t hold that against him too.
When the men finally ran, Gokudera attempted to give chase, but Yamamoto kept him back. “Let them go,” he said. “It’s over.”
Gokudera watched them run and slumped in Yamamoto’s hold. “This isn’t over. It’s just a symptom.”
Yamamoto leaned against a wall and looked over at Gokudera. “Maybe it is and maybe it isn’t, but it’s over. I know it,” he said, his smile fading as he fell silent. “Gokudera…”
“Save it. You don’t have to say anything. I was the idiot this time,” he mumbled, leaning back against the wall and sliding down it so he was sitting next to the remains of his groceries.
Yamamoto looked down at him. “You were.” He smiled again. “But you were right. I was being overbearing. I just wanted to help…”
Gokudera snorted. “You helped me enough back there. I owe you.”
Yamamoto smiled and went silent for a moment. The two of them stared at the other wall, waiting in the heavy silence, before Yamamoto spoke up again. “I’m done,” he said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shrugged, still smiling. “After my contract’s done, I’m coming back to Namimori,” he said. “I think I’ve been away from home for too long.”
Gokudera sat up and looked over at Yamamoto. “But baseball’s your dream, dumbass. Don’t give it up now.”
Yamamoto laughed, shaking his head. “Now you say that!” He laughed harder. “But no, you were right. I mean, I love it, I really do. Baseball’s always been my passion and my dream, but I love my Family more.” He looked down at Gokudera, his smile softening. “Besides, I feel like I’m missing out on so much when I’m up there. Clearly I need to be around more often.”
Gokudera paused and smiled, rolling his eyes. “Clearly. Dumbass,” he said, pushing himself up and grabbing his grocery bags. “C’mon, let’s get the fuck out of here. I need some ice on my foot.”
Yamamoto grabbed Gokudera and supported him, bringing back that feeling of that stability and relief. “Sounds good to me,” he said.
“And don’t get any funny ideas. You’re not moving back in.”
Yamamoto could only laugh.
Gokudera looked down at his arm and smiled as he flexed it. “Feels good to use this thing again,” he said, stuffing it in his pocket to retrieve his carton of cigarettes and his lighter.
Yamamoto laughed and shook his head as he watched Gokudera. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?” he asked, waving the smoke away when Gokudera blew it in his face.
“Whatever.”
Tsuna just smiled as he watched the two of them, a familiar manila folder tucked underneath his arm. “Glad things are finally back to normal,” he said happily. “So I brought you something to celebrate.” The two of them looked up at their boss (and friend) from the back seat of the car, both eager to hear what Tsuna had in mind.
He passed the folder back and relaxed as Gokudera leafed through it, cigarette already stubbed out on the ashtray. Yamamoto leaned closer to get a good look at the file.
“Seems like this mission isn’t over yet,” Tsuna said with a quiet sigh. “The Saito-gumi’s allies are moving in to take over their operation. Hibari may have fixed the last clan, but it looks like this one might be tougher to crack. I was hoping you two could work together and crash their next shipment.”
Gokudera looked up at Tsuna and smirked. “When’s that?”
Tsuna checked his watch and laughed sheepishly. “The information we gathered says ten minutes,” he said. “We’re heading there now, but I have men on standby if you aren’t up for it.”
Yamamoto only laughed, slinging his arm around Gokudera’s shoulder. “I think we’re the perfect fit for the job, right? Show those guys what it’s like to mess with the Family.”
Gokudera elbowed Yamamoto in the waist and rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help but agree. “Count us in, Tenth,” he said, and Tsuna smiled.
“I had a feeling you’d say that. We’re just about there, but we can’t stop, so you’ll have to get out the old fashioned way.”
Gokudera looked out the window and nodded, kicking the door open as the car moved toward their destination. The ground moved underneath them, speeding by as the car slowed down, but refused to stop. “Works for me,” he said, and pushed the folder out of the way to seat himself on the edge, waiting for the right moment to jump.
“You’re insane,” Yamamoto said with a smile, but unbuckled his seat belt anyway.
Gokudera looked back at Yamamoto and smirked. “I know,” he said, and pushed out of the door. This was forward movement; a body in a state of uniform motion, moving at a constant velocity until acted upon by an external unbalanced force. He had a feeling just what that force was, seated behind him and waiting for him to go. So, what else could he do but push off and hit the ground running?
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Yamamoto shook his head. “I haven’t left anyone,” he said. “Why am I denied a future while everyone else gets to pursue theirs? Ryohei’s boxing, you’re at a university. Even Hibari’s working, so why am I the only one you single out? Do you really hate me that much </>?”
As for the author, the story is really thought-out and executed well, great reading, thanks. ^^v
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Thank you though! I'm glad you liked it!
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It's supposed to be part one of two, leading into something a little bit more than PG-13, but we shall see if I ever write that sequel!
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I'm glad though! Half the fun in their characterization is the banter and the bickering! That or I just have way too much fun writing fast-paced arguments. XD That could be it. I'm so flattered you think so though!
And yes, I do have plans for a sequel! Hopefully I can get the juice to start writing that again.