A/N: O.K., I've always wanted to write one of these. It's a XanxusxOC story, so if you don't like those kind of stories, don't read it. But it's not one of those "oh she's amazingateverything and xanxus totally fallsinlove at firstsight andicant spell or use proper grammar to save my life" kind of stories. Nu-uh. I do not own KHR, or else this would totally happen in the manga. Jezebel's temper and abilities was inspired by Shizuo from Durarara!, because that series is amazing and I love Shizuo to itty bitty pieces. And just to let you know, this takes place after the Varia Arc and before the Future Arc.

Summary: Most therapists have their patients sit on couches. But when you're an aspiring psychologist employed as a secretary for the most feared mafia assassin group in the world, you find it's more useful to throw said couches at your patients. XOC

In Which a New Couch is Required

Chapter I : London Calling

Timoteo was had a problem.

As Vongola Nono, he had problems on a daily basis. After all, he was the ninth leader of the most powerful and legendary mafia family since its creation four centuries ago. And since he was an accomplished leader, he was able to handle these problems with care and a calm attitude.

But this problem was bigger than most.

What, you have to ask, would be such a big problem for Vongola Nono? After all, he spent the majority of his life training for and dealing with almost every possible situation that could plague him and his family. But of course, you can't be prepared for everything that comes down the road. Especially when what comes down on the road is the Varia.

Yep, that was his problem. The Varia. The Vongola's independent assassination squad, feared by all who know anything about the mafia. The mafia group that mafia moms tell their little mafia girls and little mafia boys mafia stories about to make sure they go to mafia sleep. And with the leader of the Varia being his rebellious adopted son, Xanxus (whom he actually had to freeze in ice for a considerable amount of time when he tried to overthrown the Ninth), the situation only got worse. It was bad enough that Xanxus hated Timoteo for never saying he was an adopted son and couldn't inherit the family, but now he actively wanted Sawada Tsunayoshi, candidate for being Vongola Decimo, dead. More precisely, he wished to see Tsuna's head presented to him on a silver platter by his ever-so-loyal subordinates.

It was this rather major problem that plagued the Ninth Vongola boss so much it kept him up at night, convincing him to leave his hotel room in London, England (he was there for business) to go for a walk at an ungodly hour in the morning, contemplating how best to deal with the situation. Which of course brought him to the present, sitting down on a slightly damp bench in Burgess Park, overlooking a small lake. It was peaceful, and Timoteo was glad that he had decided to abandon his bodyguard, who were no doubt scrambling around like idiots now that he disappeared. It was impossible to think clearly with them around.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps and slightly heavy breathing. 'A late-night jogger, perhaps?' He thought to himself, tensing out of habit. He looked behind him as the jogger approached, growing from a silhouette in the darkness into a full figure. An amused smile graced his lips as the young woman dumped herself on the bench next to him, too absorbed in her music to notice his presence. Grabbing a bottle of water she had in a small bag strapped to her back, she drank in small sips. It wasn't until she was almost done refreshing herself that the woman noticed she was being stared at.

"Oh." The young woman obvious cared little for her appearance. She wore baggy cotton pants and a sweatshirt that all but hid her gender, her short, oddly silver hair in disheveled spikes, looking more like she never bothered to do it rather than the stylized fashion of Timoteo's grandson-like heir Tsuna's hair. "I'm sorry sir, am I disturbing you?"

"Oh no, not at all," The mafia boss replied in perfect English with a carefree smile that only the elderly could pull off. "How could a the presence of a young lady disturb an old man such as myself?" The stranger reddened slightly at his compliment, and smiled slightly as he continued, looking out onto the pond again. "I was just taking a moment to enjoy the night air and relax."

"You do seem stressed," The young woman commented, taking out her earbuds and leaning forward with slight interest. Timoteo raised an eyebrow, mildly impressed at her intuition. "Tapping fingers, tense muscles, ground teeth. And someone you're age up and about this hour? Looks like you're more stressed than you'd like to admit." His friendly stare didn't change, but he instantly went alert. 'Who is this girl?'

Despite his attempts, though, she seemed to notice his suspicion and apologized. "Sorry, didn't mean to pry. Can't help it." She scratched the back of her head as she laughed sheepishly. "Jezebel Periwinkle Maddox, currently studying psychology." She introduced herself, extending a hand to shake. 'Perwinkle? Interesting middle name.'

"It seems to be a field well-suited for you, Ms. Maddox" He informed her, making her grin as he shook her hand. "Timoteo Vongola. I'm sure you're professors would be impressed." When she heard his last comment, her smile faltered for a moment, but long enough for Timoteo to notice. "Something wrong?"

"I don't have any professors yet," She replied, looking slightly disappointed in herself. "I haven't been able to find a university with the courses I want that I can afford. And since my dad just got laid off, there's no way I can go to my parents for money, and there's no way in hell I will ever ask my scumbag brother..." She quickly realized she was rambling and stopped, but knew the deed was done. "Well, that's my problem. What about yours?"

Timoteo chuckled softly. Sharing troubles? He could do that. "My only surviving son and I haven't been getting along since he found out he was adopted, which was many years ago.." He informed her, sounding more depressed about it than he intended. Well, at least he had left out the details. "My other two... died in accidents. And since he doesn't fit the quota for succession, I can't make him my heir. So now he's rebelling against me." He didn't have to look at her to feel her gaze of sympathy as he continued, staring out onto the water. "I just wish I could figure out what I could do to ease his anger and hatred towards me." He heard a rustle of clothing and a few footsteps, and before he knew it, the silver-haired teenager (he realized now she was only about nineteen or so, though she looked to be in her early twenties) was sitting next to him, patting his shoulder reassuringly.

"Sounds like you're going through a lot," She commented, staring at the water with him before leaning back and looking up. "But that's life, isn't it? It seems that no matter how much you go through, there's always something that can screw things up. As an aspiring psychologist, I would suggest you 'talk things out with your son,' but it sounds like he's been harboring a grudge against you for years. So talking isn't going to work at this point. In fact, I would say that there's nothing you could do but-" She stopped as they both heard voices approaching, and turned their heads. A group of young men, seemingly ranging from mid twenties to early-thirties, staggered through the park, obviously on their way home from a night a pub getting completely smashed. Timoteo was going to turn around and ignore them when they noticed Jezebel.

"Oi! Tart!" They jeered, trying to get her attention. "When you're done getting off on that geezer John of yours, 'ow 'bout you get over here and give us a good shag!" Timoteo frowned, noticing Jezebel bristle as she turned back around and ignored their whoops and catcalls. "Come on, ya shlapper!" As they approached, the mafia boss was tempted to rise up and show the boys their place, but was slightly concerned about scaring the young girl he had just met. His attention went from the group to Jezebel as the rose to her feet, speaking to him in an unusually calm voice.

"Mr. Vongola," She requested politely. "Would you mind standing up for a moment?" Slightly surprised at her request, he rose from his seat, leaning slightly on his cane as any proper old man should. "Thank you."

"Oh, looksh like she does want to get shome!" One of the men commented, advancing towards her. He was almost in the teenager's face when she spoke, her voice a quiet mumble.

"What was that? I couldn't hear ya!" His breath reeked of bad alcohol, which he probably had been consuming since the evening.

"I said..." Her voice was louder as she gripped the sides of the park bench she and Timoteo were using. The man stopped moving when he heard the creak and groans of metal being strained, looking down to see the metal of the bench twisting under her tight grip. The Ninth watched in barely contained amusement and amazement as the petite girl proceeded to pick up the bench and hold it over her head. "WHO ARE YOU CALLING A WHORE, YOU WANKERS!" Furious, she proceeded to throw the bench at the man before her, who screamed and ran back to the group. Unfortunately for them, they forgot to take into account that if thrown hard enough, a park bench will bounce and roll, and were hit like bowling pins by what was once a usable park bench. A few of them managed to rise with only minor injuries, only to have to deal with another bench being thrown, as well as a large rock and the lamp of a street light. To be honest, Timoteo was impressed with the speed of Jezebel's movements; it was no sooner that she had thrown one object then she was already reaching for another.

Ten minutes, three park benches, one tree, and one street light later, and the group of drunk hecklers were now, without a doubt, completely unconscious and probably in need of some hospitalization. And standing above their slightly bruised and broken bodies, chest rising and lowering with each heavy breath, was one Jezebel just beginning to calm down. Wiping her forehead, she had almost forgotten that Vongola Nono was there when he spoke.

"Impressive," He commented, startling Jezebel. "Very impressive." Her anger quickly dissipated as fear and worry set in.

"Oh god," She said, realizing that she had snapped in front of him. "I-I'm so sorry. i didn't mean to- i just kind of- I'm usually not this bad, honest. it's just that today's been a really bad day for me and-" Timoteo raised a hand and she quickly shut up.

"It's not a problem at all," He informed her. "I was tempted to do something worse to them, anyway." For a moment she did nothing, merely staring at the elder gentlemen with a befuddled expression on her face. But before she could ask a question, he opened up his cell phone and said a few words in Italian before closing it again. Looking again at the confused girl as she crouched down to poke at one of the men she had beaten, the gears in the capofamiglia's head churned. The girl's use of brute strength was quite astonishing, considering that she seemed to have no combat experience whatsoever. Definitely not mafia (or she would have reacted to his name), she was, without a doubt, just an ordinary civilian, despite her skills. But she could be incredibly useful.

"Ms. Maddox," He called, getting her attention. She looked up and rose to her full height. "I have a proposition to make, if you're interested." Curious, she stepped over the unconscious bodies and made her way over to Timoteo.

"Proposition?" She sounded skeptical and a bit suspicious, and given what just occurred, she had every reason to be.

"Yes indeed, one that will benefit both of us," He continued. "If we both work together, I believe that we can not only solve my problem, but yours as well." She quickly knew what he was talking about.

"You want me to help your son?" The idea seemed to interest her, so he went on.

"Yes, but I'm afraid he's not the kind of person you can just talk to," The man sighed, suddenly feeling tired again as he began to walk, Jezebel joining him. "He has a bit of a temper you see, and is not prone to seeing reason in things. I imagine he and his associates will be very difficult to deal with, but you seem to be the type of person that can handle that kind of thing. And despite how I may seem, I do have a considerable amount of money, and I'd be more than willing to cover the fees for your tuition." He looked at her and smiled. "So, how about it? Care to assist me with my son?"

"Sounds interesting," Jezebel remarked, slipping her arm through Timoteo's so he could put some weight on her, easing the strain on his legs. 'My, she is attentive, isn't she?' "But why not just hire an actual professional therapist for him? Wouldn't that be much more reliable?" At this, he couldn't help but chuckle.

"Actually, no," The elderly man replied. "He's the kind of person that would do much better with someone of his... age."

"So you're saying that his ill temper occasionally leads to violence, there for you want someone such as myself to be able to handle it."

"A bit, yes. You caught me there." As they reached the street, a black limo pulled up and quickly opened as the Ninth's Storm Guardian emerged, any sign of worry covered by a cool, composed mask.

"Nono," He said, smoothly gesturing into the interior of the long vehicle. With a smile, Timoteo nodded at his Guardian as he got inside.

"Thank you for picking us up, Coyote." He offered his hand to Jezebel, "Interested in my offer, Ms. Jezebel Periwinkle Maddox?" For a moment, she watched him with an unreadable expression, before shrugging and entering the limo, shaking the Ninth's hand. She seemed to catch on that there was more to the situation then Timoteo was revealing, but nevertheless, was not interesting in passing up the offer to pursue her dream.

"I'm in." The boss smiled, delighted that she had accepted. For once, it seemed as if there was hope for him repairing his relationship with the only son he had left and giving the boy some chance at moving on. After all, whether Xanxus liked it or not, he was Timoteo's son, and as a father, Vongola Nono wanted nothing more for his son than happiness.

"So, Ms. Maddox, what do you know about the mafia?"

"... what?"

A/N: And chapter 1 is done~! Liked it? Hated it? Reviews are welcome and greatly encouraged. Just remember: as much as you wish, you're not a member of the mafia. You can't use your Dying Will as a weapon. So no flames.