La Nenia

The Varia are in Italy when it happens, too far away and impossible to reach, and that's what he almost can't forgive. You can see that in his eyes, when you can see anything other than simple exhaustion and pain. You could tell him it's not fair, because it isn't, but he knows that and you aren't inclined to speak of fairness yourself. Not after everything.

Not after this.

But you're there for him, as much as you can be anyway, and he's not there for you exactly but he's there, and that's enough. You miss Tsuna so much it's like a physical wound sometimes, and it hurts -- and then you just have to wonder what it's like for him, because if you're reeling off-balance from missing one of the most important people to you, what can that mean for Gokudera? Jyuudaime was the world to him, and everyone knew that. Where since you were fourteen you had Gokudera on one side and Tsuna on the other, balancing you, Tsuna was always the center of Gokudera's universe, and nothing changed that, not held hands nor confessions nor kisses exchanged, not with anyone.

You've known forever that you're not enough for Gokudera, and you're okay with that. Bel won't be, you register, you think numbly -- he won't be happy, but maybe that's okay, because no one's happy right now and it almost feels wrong to be, though you're not one to subscribe to such ideas. Better to smile, to laugh--

Be happy, because most of all, on the whole, the world's a good place, and you can make it a little better, like your friends make it better for you--

You're waiting for something but he's stopped waiting, smoking on the edge of your bed and you watch him. He hasn't stopped inhaling smoke since the death had been announced, official, he hasn't slept since then and the skin around his eyes is dark in testament, and his graceful pianist fingers shake.

No, he's still waiting -- you realize, but you don't know for what, and it seems different from how your waiting feels: you're helpless and don't know what to do, but it seems like he has an idea, he's jittering and distracted, something biding behind that pool of tired, upset hopelessness that fills him up.

(Someone on your street died once when you were a kid, you'd heard that his dog had refused to eat, had just waited in the front hall for its owner to come back, or maybe that's just one of those stories you hear...)

You can't remember.

It doesn't matter, really.

You wait with him while he breathes fire into his lungs, and it isn't selfless at all. You should be out, doing something, anything. You both have jobs to do, but for a while you're all allowed to be selfish.

You don't touch him. You don't know if you could stand to be touched right now, and you know he can't. He shies away from it, shrugs it off, in an uneasy attempt to disguise his unease. Cut it out. Lights another cigarette with a lighter he doesn't look at, and he's going to kill himself at this rate, but you can't bring yourself to tell him that. It seems like the cruelest thing you could possibly say.

Your cell rings, and you jump. Gokudera doesn't startle, doesn't look over at you, but you see him in the corner of your eye as you check the caller ID; his gaze steals over, unable to not wonder, not entirely.

"I know I don't need to check up on him," Lussuria assures you when you answer, sounding like the words are just for the sake of saying them. "Goodness knows he doesn't need to call me, but he always leaves me some raucous message or other when he gets back. I tried his phone, but he never picked up, and your boss's cell phone is turned off or something..."

You get along well with Lussuria, like you do with almost everybody, but you can't answer her. You remember Ryohei arriving, getting the news; he went out after that, and you don't know where, but you could make a guess -- his phone may be on silent, or he might just have forgotten it, something inconsequential in the sudden madness. It's not a surprise that Lussuria called you. After failing to get a hold of Ryohei. After trying Tsuna.

"I think he's with Kyoko," you say, and the words are dry as a desert without your element. "Want me to tell him to call when he gets back?"

"No, no!" Lussuria chirps. Tinny words, echoing over hundreds of thousands of miles of air. Or something like that. You were never good at technology. You were never good at geography. "That's totally all right, just wanted to make sure-- well, you know, you know?"

"I know," you say.

"Well--"

"Hey. Lussuria?"

Some distance away beside you, Gokudera shifts, blows out smoke on a sigh. He knows what you'll say. You know.

"Can I... talk to Squalo? Please."

In the pause you know Lussuria knows that something's up; you also know she won't ask. She'll find out sooner if she lets you talk to Squalo, so she agrees and you sit there while you're left on hold, and Gokudera shifts on the bed slightly, and stands.

You cover the mouthpiece with your hand. Your voice is quiet, but it's stable and strong, and that's more fair than being louder and weak. "Do you have to go?"

He doesn't say a word for a long few moments, lets his hand with its cigarette drop to his side and runs his other hand through his hair. Distracted, unsettled, shuttered. "...Sorry," is all he says, almost a sigh itself, and walks past you.

The door closes with a click, and on its wings, you hear an, "Uooooooiiii, what the hell is it, gakiiii?" Usual greeting wrapped in meaningless shades of annoyance. The Varia's always found things out itself, and you wish they could have now, because while it won't hold anywhere near the same meaning for them as it does for you, delivering such news over the phone, speaking into empty air, is almost too hard.

But Squalo's sharp, and you close your eyes so that you can almost see his narrow. A moment's silence is a moment too long, and he adds, "Takeshi."

Demanding, unspoken. What happened?

Your eyes stay closed. "Yesterday. Tsuna was meeting with some guys from the, ah. The Carcassa family." Silence. He's listening. Infamous for being loud, Superbi Squalo does silence well, and he's always listened. "He was... he was shot. Some of the Millefiori were there, and..."

"FUCK." You hear him sigh, too, over the phone. "How critical is it, kid? He alive?"

It's a reasonable question, isn't it. It's harsh and it hurts and you might almost wish you could get upset at him for it, but it's Squalo.

"No."