When possible, turn around

Summary:

Trust assures you that love is no dead end. That loyalty is no one-way street. But when things take a wrong turn, it's time for a change of course. For Gokudera that's a new job, and for Yamamoto family counseling – Vongola style. Nearly TYL (again).

Disclaimer and warnings:

1) Me no own. Be it 'Reborn!' or anything else I might quote or use as a requisite.

2) Me no native English-speaking. But don't be afraid - the text is in safe hands with my beta reader, the wonderful RainbowMushroom. Once more, thank you very much!

3) Me no care. Cause the Voices kept insisting. And don't you ever argue with the Voices! Or at least wear a clearly visible headset; that will spare you many funny looks...

4) BL, Shonen-ai, Yaoi, the like, we'll see what fits in the end - don't like, dont't read.

(Wikipedia-san says: Yaoi = "Yama nashi, ochi nashi, imi nashi - No climax, no point, no meaning". Relaxing job definition for the author, hm?)

5) AU: Does not include the Inheritance Ceremony Arc or anything following it. All those changes...Oh, I liked most of those changes, like that very stylish Vongola Gear (except for Armamento Completo Daemon – this one looks like a walking swiss army knife). But as for props in a story, rings and boxes are easier to handle. And what if, for example, Yamamoto's chin received the scarring wound while I'm still writing? My whole plot would collapse!

So Uri's out of the Vongola Box Ring and back in the box – perhaps dreaming of Schrödinger. Fortunately, this series already established parallel universes.

6) Italics within direct speech: Foreign word or language.

Chapter 1 - Ignorance is bliss

[Italian mainland, Campania. May.]

One particular manor sat peacefully in its impressive yard - impressive for several reasons. The sheer expanse of green in this heavily populated area delighted the eye and made more than a few observers calculate the real estate price. Similarly impressive was the craftsmanship of the gardeners who maintained such an elaborately designed landscape. Charred, shredded or mutilated plants (some of the residents and their visitors were... temperamental) were rarely found, for they would instantly be covered up, nursed back to health or mercifully released and swiftly replaced.

Therefore, the window of a certain mafia boss' office presented him a most calming view as he wondered if the Ninth was finally back at the Vongola ancestral seat in Sicily. Although Tsuna was happy that his predecessor had taken a well-deserved holiday (he had looked much more healthy on the picture postcard, despite the atrocious aloha shirt), the current political situation inside the mafia did not bode well with the young man.

His approach to an all-out upheaval of the Vongola affairs - slowly but surely back to the vigilante-roots - had not exactly been met with approval from many of the allied families. So the message that the ever-trustworthy Vongola Nono would be supporting the actions of the x-factor Vongola Decimo couldn't be stressed too insistently.

But a look through the window, where Hibird provided the scenery with yellow fluffiness and general mollification, reminded the worried Mafioso that allies like the Cavallone had already helped a great deal. As did the Bovino and the Tomaso, of course! And the intelligence reports on Byakuran were really encouraging - who would have thought, that all it took was a simple-

BangbangbangbangBOOM

Tsuna sighed. "Lambo?" His office bo-, urh, his top-hitman-for-very-special-missions (i.e. most of the times unengaged and therefore at call) looked up from 'Killer Cows'. "That sounded like it came from the foyer - check up on it, please. Take your time, so they have at least five minutes to straighten it up and another five to weave an appropriate story".

Lambo gave a lazy grin, marked his page, put the book aside and left, thus giving his boss an opportunity to have a rushed look at a cow-printed wish list.

"Only a few more days to his forteenth birthday, and he delivers this now! Heavens, fourteen! Won't be much longer till we have frequent visits from Baby Lambo. Note to self: Always keep a bag of grape candies and my antidote for Poison Cooking ready. Good thing that Bianchi stayed with us to watch him grow up and got used to his looks. Wait, Gokudera-kun made an enquiry with the Bovino lab about the delivery date of the bazooka back then. Where did I...

"Wait. Four shots from Reborn's CZ 75 and one explosion afterwards?!" Another sigh and a shrug. "Oh well, since Reborn became an adult again and Gokudera-kun quit smoking six weeks ago, things take getting used to."

o-o-o

Ten minutes later

In Tsuna's office shone Yamamoto's smile no. 4 - 'I don't like it, you won't like it, but that's how it is'.

Another fifteen minutes later Tsuna recapitulated.

"So, for 'unimportant' reasons the foyer needs 'a bit of plaster', Giotto's red circle is 'slightly damaged', that sun-mended (I know onii-san's first aid when I see it!) patches on your face are 'nothing', Reborn is still in the ward and Gokudera-kun is not available. Did I forget something? Did you forget something?! Yamamoto, I need the whole story, and you know it! So tell me, from the very beginning!"

His Rain Guardian gulped. The very beginning... that would be one month ago, the day after his birthday...

"No! 'cuz I'm not gay! Uhm, sorry, Gokudera..."

Apparently, battle reflexes to overcome shock worked with unexpected declarations of love, too. The answer had left his mouth before consulting the brain - every time before ('But those were girls!') he had at least thought about some nice words to let them down. Not that he rebuffed every single approach - in a country where even politely greeting a woman included touching and kissing, Yamamoto Takeshi had become quite the ladies' man. A nice evening, a very nice night and a nice addio the morning after - no complaints until now...

Oh drat! Something so harsh from him, to a feared fighter who didn't do well with rejection! Slightly panicked, he looked at Gokudera. The Storm Guardian took a deep breath, held it for a moment with unreadable face, then let it out again with his best business-smile. Tsuna had once joked that this smile was just the excess smiling-rays from Takeshi, collecting on Gokudera's face over the years, although he did immediately prohibit his Guardians from revealing this to his Right Hand.That new smile (along with anger management training) was too beneficial in negotiations to risk losing. Knowing all this, the smile did nothing to reassure the Rain Guardian.

"It's alright. I told you without any expectations - just to get it off my chest. Please forget about it. I would appreciate if we could continue being friends. And if you could not tell anybody?"

Takeshi heaved a sigh of relief and smiled brightly. "Not a single word! And of course we're friends, just like before!"

o-o-o

But nothing was like before. He couldn't forget, try as he might, although Gokudera did his best to act natural and like before. But a lot of things that were natural before... just weren't any more. Sitting next to each other, throwing an arm around the other's shoulder, sharing things, touching accidentally or simply addressing the other. Yes - hearing his own name (no more 'baseball idiot') or saying the other's made him feel uncomfortable. But avoiding all this felt unnatural and uncomfortable too. And even worse, he grew conscious of the Storm Guardian's efforts to ease those situations and to act unaffected - which only resulted in Takeshi's growing uneasiness. Uneasiness that he wanted to blame the other for, but his conscience revolted and thus added remorse to the entire unpleasantness.

Oh yes, his conscience - couldn't it differentiate between 'heartbroken' and 'newly ex-smoker'? Not every case of sleep disturbance, trembling, lack of concentration in meetings and so on had to be his fault - withdrawal symptoms, hello? And this whispering, how difficult that confession must have been for someone that occlusive - did anyone torture him for that piece of information?

So he tried distance in their spare time, causing increased punctiliousness during working hours. And there was really no reason to barge in on the multiplying quarrels between cranky ex-smokers and suddenly grown-up tutors as a supporting friend - an adult Right Hand surely wouldn't like such intrusions, while roaring about sapping, bullying and mobbing - if that even was what the rapid bursts of Italian were about (Takeshi still wasn't that fluent in it).

o-o-o

So came today.

It had appeared to be a nice day, even if senpai had tried to lecture him during breakfast. Something about how a stupid spat between friends could split a team TO THE EXTREME. Might have been related to Bianchi (chaperone for the sake of female guests, since there was no lady of the house yet) leaving the table as soon as Takeshi entered the kitchen. Without touching anyone else's food, so why the fuss? And anyway, she was most likely just eager to prey upon Reborn and get him to declare his undying love for her...

The athletes had a healthy breakfast and a rambling conversation. Senpai was missing Kurokawa - who was studying international law – more than usual because he had just received an airmail letter from her this morning. The Rain Guardian narrowly escaped a dramatic reading of her descriptions of fondness and day-to-day life, and headed for the yard to train beneath the cloudless Italian sky. But before he even left the building, a dreaded voice called his name.

"Yamamoto!"

'Crud!' Perhaps he could just walk on, pretend to-

"Rain!"

'Ah. Business.' He turned, the usual smile in place. "Sotto Capo?" (The term for 'underboss' was one of the first Italian phrases he had learned - only because it was really easy to pronounce and came in handy for a Japanese mafioso.)

"It's about your next few missions. Originally, you were partnered with me on those. I'm guessing you will not disagree if I change the arrangements."

'Don't show relief!' With a smile, "Sure, but why change them? We work well together."

"We did work well together. Currently we don't. Because you flinch whenever you see or hear me, and you hesitate when I call out to you. Awkward at least, ludicrous in negotiations and probably lethal in battle. Any objections?"

Relief and smile forgotten, Takeshi looked straight at Gokudera's face for the first time for days, feeling only ... strangeness. Harsh, analysing, straightforward, unsmiling - just like at the time when they first met. Just what made the girls surge into his fan club back then. Why did it feel strange now?

But before he could answer either the Italian's question or his own, another voice barged in.

"Forget it!"

Over the other's shoulder ('That's strange, too. Why doesn't he look behind? And what's with the face?') Takeshi saw Reborn, casually leaning against a pedestal that bore the mandatory vase.

"What did you say, Reborn...-san?" Finally turning around to face the world's greatest hitman, the voice of Bianchi's brother held more poison than her cooking ever had.

Taken by surprise, the Japanese stepped aside to keep an eye on both opponents - wait, opponents?!

"I told you to forget about those changes."

Carefully unclenching his teeth and taking the Right-Hand-Man-Stance(TM) apparently helped to make the answer sound formal and almost civil. "Maintenance of the duty roster is my commission, not yours. It is courtesy if I ask the Guardian in question for his or her consent, but only the Tenth's approval is necessary."

"That's why you already put this changed roster on Tsuna's table. But he does not approve. On the contrary! His orders are to drill you two back to teamwork. Two weeks together at this cosy Cavallone weekend house seem like a good start to him."

Takeshi opened his mouth to protest - and closed it again. For this déjà vu.

It had to be a déjà vu; why else should something as trivial as a choleric taking a deep, calming breath and holding it for a moment before slowly exhaling seem so significant? Even more with this blank fac-

"I quit".

The next exchange was lightning-fast, even by the standards of a highly skilled swordsman and baseball-player:

With his words still ringing, Gokudera made eye contact with Vongola's grey eminence, took off the Storm Ring and threw it ('Wow, a really low drop ball!') at Reborn, who caught it. While the brim of his fedora partly covered the catcher's range of vision, the pitcher yelled "Double bombs!" - but released the triple bombs! Well, this seasoned catcher, urh, hitman was not taken by surprise and drew his pistol to sever all the fuses with four shots in 1.3 seconds. Precisely the timeframe in which a crafty pyrotechnist could press a button at his watch and duck. Which he did.

BOOM

o-o-o

It took the world a few moments to stop being so darn loud and bright and full of flying bits. The first percolating sound was a string of profanities, slowly turning into recognizable sentences full of loathing.

"...your wish, you sordid old fart. Good riddance! But keep in mind that the bigger they fucking are, the easier they are to hit."

Okay, damage report: Himself lying on the floor, apparently unscathed. The foyer full of smoke (already clearing), but visibly worse for wear. One person standing in sight, talking - Gokudera. Talking to someone on the floor. Someone prone motionless nearby the ruin of a pedestal.

What?!

The standing figure turned to leave when a glint among the debris,close by the likewise motionless Leon, caught the observer's eye, making him bang up and talk.

"Won't you pick up your Ring?"

The other stopped, then turned around. Serpentine eyes - smoky green, hard and cold - scrutinized him.

"No. 'cuz I just quit. Bye, Yamamoto."

'Quit. Quit what? Smo- Oh God! He's leaving?! Just because of this fight? No, that alone won't do. What else...? Me. He's leaving because of me! No! I didn't want to-'

His thoughts must have been displayed on his face in a most graphic way - Gokudera's expression softened and he headed back.

"No. Listen to me! I never lied to spare your feelings, right? So believe me now: It's not you! Got that?"

"But what...?"

"You heard this order just now? Did you sense any fear of consequences when that pompous asshole spoke in the Ten- ... his boss' name? Either the head of Vongola doesn't care anymore, or turned plain cruel, to issue this order. Or he doesn't dare to control Reborn and suchlike. I tried to talk to him, but got put off and shooed away for months. Either way, this is not the family I wanted to help building anymore. So I draw the conclusions. Put simply: I drop out of the 'Mafia-Game' to find myself a new game, because my constant losing tells me I suck at this one."

"So you just run away again?"

A short pause, then an ugly smile. "You'll understand soon enough. Just hope they don't send you". The unbefitting smile disappeared when Gokudera leaned in closer to inspect his face.

"Sorry for those cuts - stone shrapnel."

'Cuts?' Takeshi perceived something like very far away soreness around his facial muscles and vaguely recognized that shock was blocking the pain, but forgot about it when somehow the inspection ended with a short, tender peck on the corner of his mouth.

"Farewell, baseball idiot."

With this words the former Right Hand Man turned, walked through the main gate and stopped a last time to drop his boxes.

"Oh, not that this is my concern anymore, but Uri is roaming around somewhere. Good luck to those who have to put him back into the box."

And he left.

A/N:

Giotto's red circle: Not Vongola Primo, but Giotto di Bondone. To demonstrate his skill, it is said, he drew a perfect circle in red paint – freehand.

Serpentine: A mineral group. Different colours are available, but green seems to be the norm. A few weeks ago I saw a bracelet containing serpentines of exactly that grey-green...

And yes, Reborn always is the man with the plan, but sometimes I really feel like whacking him.

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