Title: Support Groups for Single Fathers
Characters: Yamamoto Tsuyoshi, Yamamoto Takeshi; Fujiwara Bunta, Fujiwara Takumi
Summary: Single fathers have to stick together when they can.
Notes: General audiences; a crossover because Fujiwara Bunta and Yamamoto Tsuyoshi are basically the best shounen dads ever, and because Echizen Nanjirou pretty much isn't. 2418 words of fluff.

Support Groups for Single Fathers

Take Sushi was small and fairly humble, but prided itself on using only the freshest ingredients available. That meant being up with the sun—or before it—to take the day's deliveries. But then, Tsuyoshi supposed that he hadn't gone into the restaurant business because he'd wanted to be able to sleep in of a morning. There was something pleasant about being up early, moving through the quiet that came before dawn to unload boxes and carry them inside, working in tandem with his boy—who'd started getting up early to lend a hand a few years ago without Tsuyoshi's ever having to ask him. It took Takeshi a while to really wake up some mornings, especially now that he was spending so much time running around with Sawada-kun and his friends, but he never complained no matter how widely he yawned, even on the mornings when he headed back upstairs after they'd unloaded everything so he could grab another hour or two of sleep.

Well, he was still a growing boy, if not for very much longer; Tsuyoshi hardly begrudged him that.

It was also funny to see Takeshi blinking sleepily at the tofu delivery, trying to figure out why the car was the same as always but the driver was different. "You're not Takumi-san," he said.

That was right, wasn't it? Takumi-kun had already started making deliveries for Fujiwara Tofu well before Takeshi had gotten big enough to help in the morning. Tsuyoshi hid a smile and went to his son's rescue as Bunta quirked an eyebrow. "This is Takumi-kun's father," he said, and gave Bunta a curious look of his own.

"He's out of town," Bunta said—not much of an explanation by any standards other than a Fujiwara's.

"Ah," Tsuyoshi said, as Takeshi bobbed into a sleepy bow. "I was afraid he might be ill."

Bunta just snorted softly and moved around to unload their tofu. He didn't say another word until Takeshi had trotted inside with it, and then it was only to say, "Saturday night?" as he lit a cigarette.

Tsuyoshi nodded. "Sounds good."

Bunta made a satisfied sound and folded himself back into the 86; it purred away into the dark, heading towards Mt. Akina. Tsuyoshi spared a moment to wish that he could tag along—it had been a long time since he'd seen Fujiwara Bunta take Akina's corners—and then dismissed the thought. That was a young man's game, and he had other things to concern himself with.

One of them was standing at the side door, sleepy face scrunched up. "He talks even less than Takumi-san does," Takeshi noted. "Must run in the family, huh?"

Tsuyoshi dropped a hand in his son's hair, ruffling it in passing. He was having to reach up to do that these days. "Fujiwaras don't use two words when one might do," he said. "Go on, now. I've got the rest."

Takeshi peered at him, yawning and uncertain. "You sure? It's really no—"

Tsuyoshi gave him a swat. "Go," he said, to cover up his grin.

His boy saw through it anyway and laughed as he ducked his head. "Yes, Tousan." He managed to slide in under Tsuyoshi's guard and wrap an arm around his shoulders, squeezing him, before eeling away again and clattering upstairs to snatch a little more sleep before school.

Takumi-kun was back the next morning, same as ever, and didn't have a word to say about his absence. Tsuyoshi had expected as much; Takeshi merely gave Takumi-kun a puzzled look and held his peace. That was the best way to handle a Fujiwara, though, so Tsuyoshi gripped his shoulder in passing, approving, after Takumi-kun had gone about his way. Takeshi looked confused by the moment of approval, but Tsuyoshi didn't explain. It was good for a young man to be confused from time to time.

Besides which, his boy wasn't stupid. He blinked a little when Tsuyoshi closed up early Saturday night and said, "...oh. Fujiwara-san is who you go drinking with?"

"Since before you were born." Since before Takumi-kun had been born, too, for that matter, back when Bunta had ruled Akina's passes and Tsuyoshi had spent too much of his time prowling around looking for the next good fight. "You have all your homework taken care of?"

Takeshi's poker face only kicked in when it really counted—questions about his homework didn't, and now he looked sheepish. "I have some of it done."

"How much is some?" Tsuyoshi inquired.

Takeshi squirmed. "I... looked at it? And thought about it real hard?"

"I figured as much." Tsuyoshi pointed at the stairs. "Go on, and don't come back down till you're halfway through or your Family needs you, whichever comes first."

Takeshi sighed, doleful. "Yes, Tousan." He trudged upstairs to wrestle with his homework; Tsuyoshi was careful not to smile until his boy was out of sight.

He was still smiling when he slid into the seat next to Bunta's. Bunta cast an inquiring glance at him. "Boys." Tsuyoshi shrugged as Kenji-san caught his eye from behind the bar; when Tsuyoshi nodded, he began pouring him his usual. "They'll throw themselves into situations to make a grown man quiver without even blinking, but you ask them to do their homework and they turn into pudding."

Bunta raised his beer for a long drink and then quirked an eyebrow. "Trigonometry?" he said, pointedly.

"I never claimed not to have done the same thing when I was his age," Tsuyoshi said. He accepted his beer from Kenji-san, smiling his thanks, and toasted Bunta. "To being older and a little wiser now."

Bunta snorted, but clinked his glass against Tsuyoshi's. They drank together; when they'd lowered their glasses again, Bunta said, "He's getting tall."

"He is, yeah. He'll be graduating in the spring." It didn't seem like it should be so soon.

"Mm." Bunta nodded. "Goes faster every year." He sipped his beer. "Decided on what happens after yet?"

Tsuyoshi chuckled. "That's what everyone wants to know." Bunta wasn't one to be deflected by small talk, though, and waited till Tsuyoshi added, "Seems like they've settled on leaving after high school." That had seemed like the obvious, logical choice to him from the beginning, of course, but the heavens knew that no one from the Vongola had asked him, save for Takeshi himself. There were other exigencies, naturally—Takeshi had said that the Ninth was getting old, so Sawada-kun wouldn't have been able to delay for long, but even so, none of them were old enough for the work they had ahead of them.

But that was the father in him speaking. The boys surely saw it in a different light.

Bunta nodded, approving the plan. "That should work. It's not good to rush."

"If it can be helped," Tsuyoshi agreed, and gestured at Kenji-san to see to Bunta's empty glass. "Wondered about Takeshi for a while, but I guess it came out all right." Not that he didn't still have the occasional nightmare about the narrow brush that Takeshi had had when he was still drifting through his days, before Sawada-kun had given them a shape and a purpose.

"A boy has to find his own way." Bunta accepted his refilled glass with a grunt and reached for his cigarettes. As if that had reminded him, he added, "Nanjirou's headed back to the States."

"Already?" It wasn't his place to judge, but Tsuyoshi's lips went ahead and pursed themselves without his permission. "By himself, or is he taking the whole family?"

It was amazing how much expression Bunta could pack into the wrinkle of his lip and the steady exhalation of a stream of smoke.

Tsuyoshi clicked his tongue against his teeth, disapproving. "He might have left the boy here instead of dragging him away again." Bunta just snorted at that, eloquent. "He'll be lucky if the boy doesn't give it all up to go dig ditches for a living."

"Probably," Bunta said, over the rim of his beer. "Maybe the time here was enough."

"Maybe." He'd never found the time to go down and see Nanjirou's boy play; that was a pity now. Tsuyoshi shook his head over it and drained his beer. Perhaps if Nanjirou himself had managed to grow up, he wouldn't have to worry about his boy—not that worrying did any good to speak of.

There were more interesting things to discuss, anyway. He cast a glance at Bunta. "Surprised me to see you sitting behind the wheel of the 86 the other day. I thought that was Takumi-kun's job now."

"Project D." Bunta lifted a shoulder, as if to say Boys and What can you do? "You'll see me again."

"I had forgotten about that," Tsuyoshi admitted. "Thought he had more energy than usual last week." Though Takumi-kun could hide that spark of his fire from most observers pretty well—but Tsuyoshi knew what to look for. He thought that Takeshi did, too, or was learning to.

"He does." Bunta seemed complacently pleased about it. "It's about time to stir him up some more."

"Wouldn't do for him to get too comfortable," Tsuyoshi allowed, chasing that with a pull of his beer. "Lucky for me that Takeshi's friends keep him stirred up for me."

Bunta's glance was sly. "Shouldn't let them have all the fun."

"You think?" Tsuyoshi mulled that over. "He's got his own agenda these days."

Bunta snorted. "So? You going to let him get settled this early?"

"Mm." Tsuyoshi considered it. There were more things in life than the Vongola. More swordsmen, too. "I'll have to think on it."

Bunta nodded and flagged Kenji-san over so they could order something to eat, and the conversation turned to other matters.

What he had suggested stayed with Tsuyoshi, though, and he watched Takeshi more thoughtfully than usual for the next several days, thinking about expectations and getting comfortable and the life his boy was preparing himself for. Bunta had a point—the things Takeshi was getting himself into weren't easy things, or pleasant ones. Takeshi knew that perfectly well, but it couldn't hurt to prepare him in ways that the Vongola might not think of.

Takeshi could tell that something was up—Tsuyoshi caught him looking back more than once, eyes both curious and patient, and was pleased by his boy's perception—but he still looked startled when they arrived at the dojo and found someone else there ahead of them. "Tousan?" Takeshi asked as the craggy old man unfolded himself from seiza as smoothly as a man a quarter his age.

"You'll work with someone else today," Tsuyoshi told him, exchanging bows with Sanada-san. "You should experience other styles more often."

Takeshi nibbled his lip, smart enough to keep his eyes on Sanada-san. "Squalo-san—"

"—isn't here nearly often enough. This is Sanada-san." Tsuyoshi didn't quite grin. "I think you'll find that he can keep you busy enough."

Sanada-san huffed, rough and indulgent, eyes gleaming over the blade of his nose. "I'll see what I can do," he said, right before lunging into an attack.

Takeshi laughed and dodged away from him, bringing Shigure Kintoki up to deflect the strike as he did.

Tsuyoshi got out of their way and left them to it, fairly certain that Sanada-san's age and experience would make a useful counterpoint to Takeshi's youth, speed, and innate skill. Sanada-san ought to think that the trip from Kanagawa had been worth it, in any case, and would surely teach Takeshi a few things in the process.

Takeshi did not disappoint him. He threw himself into the match as gleefully as he did everything, and he and Sanada-san harried each other back and forth across the dojo until they were both breathless. Tsuyoshi sat back on his heels, content to watch them and enjoy the smooth flow of Shigure Souen's forms against the speed and power of Sanada-san's Fuurinkazan, until Sanada-san finally pulled back and held up a hand, calling an end to the match. "Enough."

Takeshi's smile gleamed as he bowed. "Thank you for the match," he said, and bounded off to go fetch tea without being bidden.

Tsuyoshi raised his eyebrows as Sanada-san joined him. Sanada-san sniffed, but relented after a moment. "That's a fine swordsman in the making you have there."

"He's not too bad," Tsuyoshi murmured, as was only proper and modest, but couldn't help smiling proudly.

Sanada-san snorted at him. "Of course not. I wish I could show him to my grandson and get that boy's head down out of the clouds."

"Mm," Tsuyoshi said, neutral. "I don't know if it would help. Takeshi came to me when he was ready for the sword, not a minute sooner." And that had been for the best; it was passion and desire that made a swordsman great. No amount of badgering could do the same.

Sanada-san just snorted again. "Young people are so headstrong these days."

He was one to talk, Tsuyoshi thought, amused. "It shows a great strength of spirit, I think," he said, before inquiring after the health of Sanada-san's family in order to change the subject as Takeshi came back with the tea.

After Sanada-san had finished his tea and gone away, Takeshi finally gave into his curiosity. "What was that for?"

"Just what I said," Tsuyoshi told him. "You should have as many opponents as you can, and shouldn't get too used to me." And Squalo-san really didn't come to Japan all that often, which was probably just as well. That one made Tsuyoshi's hands itch for the sword in ways that he'd tried to forget after he'd gone respectable. "Never be afraid of shaking things up."

Takeshi puzzled over that for a moment, and then nodded, face clearing. "That makes sense."

"Good." Tsuyoshi smiled and ruffled his hair. "Now, did Sanada-san wear you out, or do you have enough energy for another match to show me what you learned from him?"

Takeshi practically bounced to his feet in his eagerness. "I'm always ready for another match!" he proclaimed.

Tsuyoshi laughed at him and climbed to his own feet rather more slowly, pleased by his boy's astuteness.

Even so, he didn't even try to explain why it made him laugh a few weeks later, when Takumi-kun pulled up to deliver tofu out of a car that wasn't the 86. Some things were beyond explanation, and a father needed to keep a few mysteries around to keep his son on his toes.

end

Comments are always lovely!