Disclaimer: The world of Katekyo Hitman Reborn and its characters are not mine.
Summary: A boss who refuses to kill; a hitman who has no such scruples; a child who takes up the gun; a loner who desires freedom; a butterfly who dreams of the life of another; and a man who believes in nothing. In the hotbed of violence named the Mafia, their lives intersect. When they collide with a rival family and the yakuza, the house of cards falls apart.
Pairings & Characters: Mukuro/Tsuna, one-sided Lambo/Tsuna, Mukuro/Hibari, vague Reborn/Tsuna, Chrome
The Bell Doesn't Toll Thrice
Part I
The terminal of the busiest airport in Japan was a glass-and-steel affair of modern nonchalance. As the hour hand slouched towards midnight, the crowd huddling around the arrival gate began to disperse. Grey languor hung in the air; loud chatter dwindled into mere whisper.
Some distance away from the crowd, Sawada Tsunayoshi, dressed in casual shirt and jeans, was arguing with someone over the phone. "Look, Reborn-" A frown was etched on his brow. "That's not what I meant." The frown deepened. "I'll deal with it in the morning, okay?" Large amber eyes narrowed. "Stop saying that." A face too boyish to be that of a Mafia boss contorted. "I know."
Standing two steps away from Tsuna was Gokudera Hayato, who alternated between scanning the area for potential threat and casting worried glances at the boss of the Vongola family. Although they were of the same age, compared to the youthful-looking decimo, Gokudera possessed an air of polished maturity at times laced with a hardness of one fully immersed in a life of crime.
Heaving a heavy sigh, Tsuna hung up and slipped the cell phone into the pocket of his jacket, the knot on his forehead remained like a battle scar. While Gokudera understood the virtue of silence, he could not help but ask anyway, "What is it, Tenth?"
"Just the usual." Tsuna waved a hand in dismissal, hoping to dissuade his friend from further distress. "You know how Reborn is sometimes. Don't worry about it."
"I understand, Tenth," Gokudera duly replied. Nonetheless, the thorn in his heart could not be so easily soothed. The ongoing dispute between the boss and the advisor was a matter he had no right to interfere, yet he wished his boss would rely on him all the same. "If there is anything I can do, please let me know."
A wry, weary smile crept onto Tsuna's lips; warm golden eyes softened amidst the glaring overhead light. "I'll keep that in mind, Gokudera-kun. Thanks for putting up with me."
Absinthe green eyes glowed as if the Green Fairy herself had come by for a visit. "Tenth, you don't have to thank me. I'm simply doing what I need to do." As he recalled the reason they were in the airport in the first place, his expression darkened. "I understand you want to treat all your guardians equally, but I cannot trust that woman. Or that man."
Tsuna did not argue with his right-hand man, for he understood all too well the reason behind Gokudera's trepidation. The man hiding behind Chrome Dokuro like a shadow was akin to a slow poison that could kill without warning.
A chill ran down his spine. The air in the terminal became a tint murkier, the light a shade dimmer. Knowing whom he would behold even before confirming the fact with his own eyes, Tsuna turned towards the arrival gate. A familiar silhouette carrying a black suitcase and a handbag fluttered into his line of sight. A willow-like figure enveloped in a form-fitting black suit and skirt, a delicate visage adorned with a black eye patch over the right eye, flowing black hair trailed past thin shoulders - the dichotomy of sylph-like frailty and clandestine danger was manifested in Chrome Dokuro like a flower blooming out of season.
Smiling warmly at his Mist Guardian, Tsuna approached Chrome with Gokudera by his side. "Welcome home, Chrome. How's your flight?" Ordinarily he would have arranged a private jet for his guardian, yet Chrome had declined the offer. While he had an inkling as to the reason for the refusal, he chose not to voice his opinion.
"It was fine, Boss," Chrome uttered softly, her voice as intangible as the element she represented. One liquid violet eye flickered towards Gokudera, who nodded rigidly in greeting. Chrome returned the gesture without a word.
"We will drive you home," Tsuna said kindly while catching Gokudera's gaze. His friend let out a sigh before smiling indulgently at him. Encouraged, he turned to Chrome. "If it's okay with you, of course."
"Thanks, Boss." The trickle of emotion in her voice induced a smile on Tsuna's face.
Several minutes later, Gokudera's sedan cruised along the highway as if in flight, roaming past glittering high-rises and orange streetlight. Sitting at the back with Chrome by his side, Tsuna was at a loss for words. Even after ten years, he had yet to figure out a way to handle his quiet comrade, a plight further complicated by his relation with the other half of the Mist Guardian.
As the car gradually approached Shinjuku, Chrome shattered the silence at last. "Mukuro-sama asked me to deliver a gift to you." With that, she took out a box from her bag and presented it to Tsuna.
The velvet white box resembled a jewellery case for a necklace, with a blue ribbon tied neatly around it. His curiosity piqued, Tsuna took the box, untied the ribbon, and opened it. When he saw what was inside, he drew a sharp intake of breath. A semi-automatic pistol laid asleep in royal blue felt, its polished surface gleamed like black onyx. Raising his head, he found Chrome lowering her eye.
"Mukuro-sama said you will understand." Casting her attention away from Tsuna, Chrome turned to Gokudera, who gritted his teeth in agitation. "I shall get off here."
The car glided smoothly to a stop along a side street, its engine purring in wait. And then, a sharp click echoed within the confines of the sedan; a gun was being cocked. His green eyes narrowed, Gokudera trained his gun squarely at Chrome's brow.
"What the hell are you and Mukuro planning to do?" Gokudera demanded.
Fear did not intrude into Chrome's disconcertingly placid demeanour. She looked blankly from the black muzzle staring down at her to the severe face of the Storm Guardian. Neither Tsuna nor Gokudera could tell what was running through her mind.
"Gokudera-kun, put away the gun." Tsuna intervened. Calm though his tone was, there was an edge in his voice that demanded obedience. Reluctantly Gokudera put his gun back into the holster, though he kept a scrutinizing eye on Chrome.
Tsuna gave him a warning look before turning to the more troubling issue. "What else did Mukuro say?"
"That was all he said." There was a pause. "Sorry." With that Chrome got out of the car and circled to the back. Twisting the corner of his mouth in indignation, Gokudera nonetheless opened the trunk for her.
At length, a poisonous chill coursed through Tsuna's veins. He sensed the world around him becoming warped and off-centre, as though he had lost his footing. Putting the box aside, he got out of the car despite Gokudera's well-meaning warning. The midnight air of the metropolis was corrupted by a bewitching fragrance of musk intercoursing with leather, the signature scent of a certain capricious man.
"Mukuro," Tsuna called out to the Mist Guardian, who inclined her head to regard him. "I know what you are trying to say. Thanks for telling me."
The body belonging to Chrome Dokuro chuckled, yet the soul within the slender figure was no longer that of the quiet young woman. "I am not trying to help you." The suave tone was lined with a patronizing note. "There is something I would like to see, that's all."
Orange eyes deepened into orbs that had captured in their depths the rueful sunset. "It's not going to stop, is it?"
Rokudo Mukuro, the thief who had borrowed Chrome's body, smiled wryly as always. Capturing Tsuna's hand in his, he brushed his lips against the decimo's ring, his gaze never once departed from that of the capo di famiglia. Although Mukuro's lips did not touch his skin, Tsuna winced at the sting on his finger. "If you ever like to be comforted, you can come to me." [1]
There was a time when Tsuna would blush furiously at the offer, yet for too long he had played this game with Mukuro that he was immune to the sugar-coated drug that was his words. "I won't become yours, Mukuro."
The smile on the Mist Guardian's face sharpened like a scythe. "You seem to be under a misconception. Our relationship is based solely on benefits. I am using you as much as you are using me. Nothing more, nothing less." He let go of Tsuna's hand and grabbed the suitcase. "Good night, Vongola." With that the Mist Guardian pulled the suitcase along and soon disappeared into the crowd.
Returning to the car once more, Tsuna leant into the embrace of the velvet car seat and closed his eyes. Vaguely he was aware that Gokudera had pulled the car into traffic. "Gokudera-kun, can you check to see if there had been any movements from our rival families lately?"
"I understand, Tenth." Tsuna found solace in his right-hand man's reassuring voice, one of the few constant in this ever-changing world. "Please leave everything to me."
Slowly cracking his eyes open, Tsuna contemplated Mukuro's gift darkly before taking it out and weighing it in his hand. No matter how many times he handled a gun, he could feel its weight settling at the pit of his stomach, dragging him under - it was the weight of a human life.
A brisk gunshot sound disrupted the silence in the abandoned warehouse, then another.
Standing over the corpse of the man he had just killed, Lambo nudged the man over with his foot. The man was staring up at him, his face frozen in a permanent state of disbelief, anger, and fear. Perhaps he could not believe he would be killed; perhaps he was angry that the deities did not intervene; perhaps he was afraid to die. Lambo did not know the answer, but he liked to imagine what went through the man's mind before his death.
The wisp of smoke coming out of Lambo's beloved Beretta had already vanished into the night, with it so was the target's life. The choking scent of blood and gunpowder permeated the air; Lambo found it at once comforting and revolting.
After dropping the gun into the pocket of his overcoat, Lambo walked out of the warehouse without a backward glance. Discreetly keeping an eye for potential pursuer, he soon escaped the deserted zone and blended into the late-night crowd. When he was certain he was not followed, he pulled out his cell phone and dialled a number.
As soon as the call went through, he said, "It's done."
"Then stop wasting my time and get back here," came Reborn's impatient voice before the call was rudely cut off. Nothing more but silence greeted Lambo's ear.
Annoyed at the treatment he had received, Lambo stuffed the phone into his pocket with more force than he needed to. "What's his problem?" he grumbled beneath his breath as he stalked among the crowd. "Is he having a midlife crisis? Stupid Reborn."
With a constant look of ennui, Lambo gave the impression of one who was stricken with apathy, yet nothing was further from the truth. Tall for his age, he looked older than his fifteen years of life suggested; nevertheless, his lazy, slouching posture retained a certain adolescent awkwardness as though he was not comfortable with his lanky body.
Cheap neon signs blinked flirtatiously at him. A woman clad in a revealing Chinese dress tried to latch onto him, but he neatly stepped away. Shinjuku - as vibrant as it is seedy, a mirror contrast to the sleepy town of Namimori where he grew up.
The adrenalin of the kill had worn off; his body shivered from the chill. "Ah, I want a glass of hot milk," he said to himself, which garnered unwanted attention from passers-by. "Maybe I should go bother Vongola. He should be at the base."
His mood instantly lifted, he strolled onto the main street and headed for the train station. As he waited for the traffic light to turn, he caught a glimpse of a dainty figure in the crowd. Clad in a crisp black suit and dragging a suitcase behind her, the girl looked very much out of place. When her long hair was blown back by a sudden breeze, Lambo immediately recognized her.
Chrome Dokuro, a Vongola guardian just like himself, and something of a gentle if emotionally distant older sister. In his younger years, Chrome had been kind to him, and he had not forgotten about that. Although she remained detached from the rest of the Vongola family, he was fond of her.
Quickly crossing the road, he ran up to her with a smile on his face. "Chrome!"
The young woman turned around; liquid violet pupil flickered in recognition. "Lambo." Her voice was transparent like glass.
"You just got back?" Chrome nodded. "You should grab a cab. That way, you wouldn't have to drag your suitcase around."
"The boss gave me a ride." As soon as those words left her lips, Lambo's expression became a disconcerting blank.
"Oh, did he?" he mumbled as though talking to himself. Mentally shaking himself out of his brooding, he offered. "I'll walk you home." Without waiting for a reply, he grabbed the handle of the suitcase and marched on ahead. After letting out a breath, Chrome caught up with him.
As they prowled the urban playground like a pair of shadows, Lambo belatedly realized he should have gone home immediately after a mission. Feeling the weight of the gun bouncing against his side, he stuffed his hand in the pocket and inquired Chrome about her trip.
He had not been to Italy in years. Although Italy was his birthplace, Namimori was his true home. Raised as a mafioso since infancy though he had been, lately he began to wonder about the logic of training a five-year-old to be a hitman. Nonetheless, he had no regret, for he was at least of some use to the family - and to him.
When Lambo fell silent, Chrome sent him a sidelong glance; the faintest of a frown was etched on her brow. Several heartbeats later, he stared at the billboard for a glossy perfume advertisement and mused aloud, "I killed a man today. He's another assassin out to get Vongola." He paused. "It's sad, isn't it?"
For an unsettling moment, Chrome's eye was tinted a shade of royal blue; the usually placid expression on her face was marred by a twist of irony on her lips. Yet, Lambo did not notice the change. Taking her silence as consolation, Lambo spoke no more.
The elevator sounded a bright chime when it reached the sixth floor. The door slid open smoothly, and Chrome, raising her head, strolled out of the metallic cage and wheeled the suitcase behind her. Half a minute later, she was standing before her apartment, her hand hovering over the keypad before withdrawing. Distantly she heard Mukuro chuckling in her head; it appeared he had noticed something was amiss as well.
"Chrome, please sleep for awhile." Mukuro's mellow voice seeped into her mind.
"Yes, Mukuro-sama." Closing her eyes, she felt her consciousness swiftly ebbing away. When phantom fingers grazed her cheek, she found herself sinking into the sea of the unconscious.
After unlocking the door, the Mist Guardian went inside and surveyed the surroundings. A sliver of light that should not have existed trickled into the hallway from the direction of the living room. Lips curled into a curious smile, he put aside the luggage and went into the living room.
The glass lamp by the black upholstered sofa was lit, and sitting on the sofa was a man nursing a glass of whiskey. Short black hair fell upon a refined visage in graceful disarray, the man exuded the poise of a natural born dictator. As soon as those cool dark eyes bespoke of boredom shot upward to regard Mukuro, the very air in the room crackled with murderous tension.
Unfazed, Mukuro applauded and let his voice fill the silence. "I heard you have dismantled one of the largest yakuza syndicates in the Tokyo area in less than three months. Congratulations. You have made an enemy out of one group and an ally out of another."
Hibari Kyouya's gaze sharpened like a scalpel. Reflected within his frozen eyes was not the slender young woman in a dark suit, but a tall, attractive man clad in cashmere and dark pants. Long hair of the darkest of nights, glittering silver ear cuff, heterochromic eyes - Rokudo Mukuro greeted him with a signature half-smile that was not entirely a smile.
"They interfered with my business." Hibari put down the glass. "It's been half a year, hasn't it?" When Mukuro did not immediately respond, Hibari narrowed his eyes. "You are playing your game with Sawada Tsunayoshi again?"
There was a flash in those unnervingly tranquil eyes of Mukuro's. "I wonder how far he can fly before he realizes the sky is his prison." The corner of his lips twisted. "Just like you."
Like a leopard Hibari sprang for the other man, his prized tonfa already in his hands. Casually Mukuro took several steps back, evading the attack. Nevertheless, he did not resist when he was thrust against the wall, the deadly weapon pressed against his throat. His smile never once wavered, the Mist Guardian said in half-jest, "Ah, you are not jealous, are you?"
Those inorganic eyes of Hibari's glittered with resentment; the downward twist of his lips spoke volume of his displeasure. "Why should I be?"
No one dared to toy with the formidable Cloud Guardian; nevertheless, Rokudo Mukuro was the exception to the rule. Chuckling in amusement, the despicable man took out a silver cross from his pocket. "I have a present for you." As though he did not feel the threatening pressure on his throat, he looped the thin chain around Hibari's neck. "Do whatever you want with it."
Momentarily stunned, Hibari loosened his hold and stared at the other man, who seemed more intent on the necklace than on him. Once the clasp was in place, Mukuro leant forward and whispered into his ear, "Say, do you miss me?"
A whiff of leather blending with musk crept into Hibari's nostrils. So vivid was the scent he could nearly tasted it at the tip of his tongue, even though he knew it was no more than an illusion woven by this impalpable man.
Hibari closed his eyes for a tantalizing beat before opening them once more. "What nonsense. I'm just anxious about biting you to death."
Dancing in opposition on the battlefield until he grew tired of it was Hibari's only demand to Mukuro. And for the past ten years, Mukuro had indulged him, even going so far as to give him the key card and the codes to his apartment. Nevertheless, Hibari began to suspect the day when the music stops playing might never arrive.
In another dimly lit living room, a lone hitman was sipping espresso by the window, beyond which was the overgrown forest at the outskirt of Namimori beneath a starless sky. In contrast to the Mist Guardian's modern home, this room was furnished in the warm, cosy style of Tuscany with a touch of contemporary comfort. It was not the kind of place one would expect to find a legendary hitman.
His lean body enveloped in a black suit, the man exuded a menacing aura liken to the gun he wielded. Those impregnable black eyes of his could rip a man's spirit apart, yet their depths could draw one in until one would rather drown in the well of darkness and never resurface again. Masculine sensuality drenched this man who was devastating in more ways than one.
When Tsuna stepped into the room, he found his advisor leaning against the window frame as though there was nothing more interesting in this world than the whispers of the shadowy forest.
"You are still awake," Tsuna said while contemplating his advisor's profile; Reborn did not turn to regard him. His brows knitted into a knot, the decimo thought about the argument earlier - and the countless arguments preceding it. "You won't be able to sleep if you drink too much espresso."
"It's just one of those nights," Reborn remarked and finished the drink. Like the caffeine-laden poison he was addicted to, his voice was rich with a hint of barely concealed passion. "You are still upset."
A sense of defiance against his former mentor reared its ugly head. "Why should I be? I know you have the family's best interest in mind. I know you want me to be a good boss for the family. It's all for the family."
Once upon a time, the word family invoked such pleasant feeling. Now, however, it became a curse that bound him to the murky sea named the Mafia, and to this man who was the very embodiment of darkness.
"It's all right if you are whining to me. Just don't let your subordinates see you like this."
"I know that!" Tsuna snapped at Reborn with more spite than he intended. "I don't want them to worry about me either." Heaving a sigh, he dejectedly threw himself onto the sofa. "Sorry. I act like a spoiled brat again."
"You are a spoiled brat." And yet, as his eyes fell upon his former student, Reborn's expression softened to a barely perceptible degree. "At least, it's an improvement that you know your own shortcoming."
"You are so demanding." Tsuna smiled faintly at his mentor, whose lips curled into a wry curve. "Will I ever hear a compliment from you in my lifetime?"
"Now you are asking too much." In several steps Reborn approached the sofa. After putting down the cup, he took a chocolate truffle from a golden box on the table. "Open your mouth."
Conceding to the hitman's command, Tsuna did as he was told, and Reborn popped the chocolate into his mouth. "With compliments from Dino."
The lush sweetness melting in his mouth reminded Tsuna of a certain man who adored chocolates with a bemusing fervour. That man was as much a paradox as Reborn, a peculiar blend of bitterness and sweetness seasoned with a dash of exotic spice. His pleasant mood evaporated at the reminder, Tsuna absently traced a thumb over the contour of the box in the pocket of his coat.
"According to Mukuro, one of our rivals is on the move. They are obviously taking advantage of the fact that we are still recovering from our conflict with the Gesso family."
For some moments, Reborn was silent. Only when Tsuna looked questioningly at him did he finally open his mouth. "Get some rest. We'll talk about this in the morning."
While Reborn was a difficult man to read, Tsuna had ten years to hone his skill. What he had perceived from his advisor was not at all to his liking. "Reborn? What is it? Do you know anything about it?"
"I said we'll talk about it in the morning." Reborn reiterated, and Tsuna winced at the sudden harshness in his tone. "I'm going out." After grabbing his fedora hat from the sofa, Reborn walked out the room and passed by Lambo at the doorway.
"Wha!" Surprised by the hitman's sudden appearance, Lambo bumped his shoulder against the door frame. "Hey, Reborn-" As soon as Reborn cast him a glance, he nervously swallowed his words. Once Reborn was out of ear shot, Lambo mumbled, "What was that about?"
"Lambo, you shouldn't go out so late at night," Tsuna reprimanded, not taking into account that he acted the same way when he was an adolescent like Lambo.
"I was just-" Realizing his mistake, Lambo immediately held his tongue. Tsuna had no idea he was working as a hitman for the family; Reborn had forbidden him to reveal the truth. While he wanted very badly to tell Tsuna, he did not want to know what kind of punishment would be in store for him should he break the vow. "I was just taking a stroll around town. It's nice outside."
In truth, Tsuna did not believe him; then again, he assumed boys of that age had secrets of their own, therefore he pried no further. Instead, he held out the box of chocolates to Lambo. "It's from Dino-san. Have one."
Looking from the chocolates to the boyish visage of the decimo, Lambo heard himself say, "Are you going to feed me?"
"Of course not. You are not a kid anymore," Tsuna countered without a second thought, not noticing a flash of consternation on Lambo's face.
Aren't you still treating me as a kid? Lambo thought.
After a beat, Lambo took a piece of chocolate and stuffed it into his mouth. The chocolate dissolved smoothly on his tongue, yet the sweetness was tinged with a trickle of bitterness. His fondness for sweets was akin to a sickness, yet it seemed the one sweet thing he desired most of all would not be his.
"How is it?" The same kind smile from ten years ago appeared on Tsuna's face, and Lambo could only force himself to smile as well.
Swallowing the bitterness of his one-sided romance and facing the source of his incurable disease, Lambo said, "So sweet I could cry."
To be continued...
[1] Capo di famiglia: Boss of the family or patriarch
A/N: Thank you very much for reading! This is the story I did for KHR Minibang 2010. I've always wanted to write a KHR fic with a more hard-boiled edge.