My next fanfiction is kinda realistic, kinda... whatever. At frst i wanted to do sth very cute, then it became a little too realistic in my staste (it depresses me). I just hop you'll be okay w/ this
PLease enjoy! (Please read the manga before reading to avoid spoiler)
Everything started with a call. A single, very simple call. Something even someone as heartless as Xanxus Vongola would never forget for the rest of his life.
It was dinner time at the Varia mansion, and for once since months, everyone was back from their respective missions. Varia's dinner times are always fucking loud. An outsider would say that it looks like a night at the circus, more than anything else. Bel had thrown his lasagna to Levy, who riposted by throwing a fuming bowl of freshly served potage on the fake prince. A throw he miserably missed, unfortunately for Lussuria who received the whole shit on his brand new 300$ hair cut. No need to say no one bet much on Levy's life after that. Mammon be their witness, no one did.
And that was in the middle of that menagerie that Varia's second in command, Superbi Squalo was trying like every damn night to keep the others quiet or, at least, sitting on their fucking seat… More likely to make it easier for him to kick their asses if they stayed at the same place, even if only during the saying of graces.
That was at that moment the phone in the kitchen started ringing (phones weren't allowed in the dinner room, express order from the Boss). The flamboyant fag being too busy knocking the idiotic butt-licker to death, the shitty prince swinging on the chandelier above the table and the baby illusionist still counting her money, the silver trash was the only one who volunteered to pick it up. Like always. Squalo, the stupid spatz. Squalo, the big Boss' personal slave, and if they were short of it, Squalo the Varia's favorite scapegoat…
"They have one, they said." The stupid spatz, the personal slave and scapegoat said as he went back to his seat.
"One, what, Squ-chan?" Lussuria friendly asked, still while beating the shit out of Levy. Hidden behind a pile of juicy steaks, Xanxus was eavesdropping.
The silver haired scum shrugged and dug into his risotto. "A heart for my transplantation, seems like."
"Seems like?" Lussuria inquired in pure shock. To show how shocked the bespectacled man was, let's say the guy totally forgot about his hair still being all sticky because of the soup, which had had enough time to dry on his green hair. Now it was nothing more than some kind of modern sculpture, something between a Ghery and a Smith. Even the other trashes around (and above) the table silenced, now all focused on Squalo who, with the Boss, was the only one still dining.
"That call, that was from Shamal's private clinic." The silver trash uttered the most naturally in the world. "That's what I fucking say: they found a donor for the heart transplant. They want me to drop by tomorrow for some stupid preliminary tests ("Ushishi. Preliminaries.") or shit."
"Yes… well… congratulation, Squ-chan!"Although quite hesitantly, the Sun guardian tried to cheer up. "Everyone, say congratulation to Squ-chan!"
"Uuu."
Squalo only shrugged once more and asked for the dessert.
Well, his lack of reaction didn't surprise the raven at all. The Vongola family had the best network when it came to stuff like organ donors, human body traffics and so on. A normal citizen can wait for years to finally find a donor when someone from the family just have to pass a call and… well, no need to go into details. But in general, for example for Squalo's case, it never takes more than a month after said "phone call". So when he was announced he'd need a new heart, the trash only replied with a 'Ah, so.' And the case was closed. That was one thing about the swordsman. Because Squalo, like many other idiots in this world, was the kind of person who can see some suspect swelling on his shoulder and just say, 'that's nothing' and brush the question off. Or also the kind of guy who, with a 39°C fever, still can train till the end of the day without even noticing that his face had gone as red as a boiled crayfish.
And that was precisely something that was truly unnerving the raven. But he wasn't going to make a scene for such a little detail. At least, not in public.
"Hey, you stupid shitty shark. You're not gonna say anything else?" The Boss demanded in the swordsman's reserved training room, once the dinner over – that's Superbi Squalo: some people have impressive dressing full of shoes and clothes, garage full of expensive cars, other ones have their personal library or swimming pool… but Superbi Squalo has a 400 square meters soundproof training room inside the mansion. Some sort of basketball court, minus the hook, but with all the bleachers and even a gigantic screen on the wall.
"What? What do I have to say about what?" The long haired man shouted back at his Boss before grinning. Xanxus grimaced in disgust: he perfectly knew what was on the shark's mind. It was already past 11 p.m but for the swordsman, it was never too late for training. "Voi, Boss, you mind a little…"
"Get lost, you dumb shit."
"Vooi, why not?" The silver haired man whined. "It's rare for you to come here, so I thought-"
"Some shitty idiot like you don't have to think about anything."
Squalo pouted then used a towel to wipe the sweat from his bare chest ("Too many clothes are just hindrance when I move." The trash uses to say. So why not just walking in the street bare naked while you're on it, you dumb shit). Some strands of hair were sticking on his skin, now glowing damply under the spotlights. "Che. You don't have to be that rude. I just say it's been long since last time we had a match. That's all."
"I'm not here for any shitty game. At any case I'd burst your silly face within one second so what's the point ("Vooi…")." Xanxus went to sit on the bleacher then took a cigarette from a packet idly lying on a stack of messy clothes – clothes and packet that definitely belonged to the silver trash. But he stilled as he couldn't find the lighter.
"Stupid Boss. Stop stealing my stuff already." Squalo stated as he lit Xanxus' cigarette with the long sought-after lighter, which he always kept by himself precisely not to have the raven stealing it again (that would be the 12th one since school).
How many times had Xanxus seen the shark kneeling in front of him with his hair practically flowing on the floor, just like that day, lighting his cigarette, or pouring him a glass of costly whisky, or just rearranging his tie before a meeting? And how many times would the idiot still be able to do that after that stupid operation?
"That transplantation," Xanxus spoke out of the blue, "Forget it."
"Huuh? Why?"
Xanxus took a puff. He exhaled and paused a little. "The illusion the baby created to replace your heart, until now it worked well, didn't it? So what's the use of a fucking heart transplantation."
The silverette looked intently at his Boss. Hard to say how, but the tanned man's was pretty sure the second-in-command could quite understand the meaning behind his words.
The Varia could be experts in killing, torturing, using their box weapons to carry out the two first points, and stealing their coworkers stuff and cursing at each others, however when it came to something not included in their respective fields of expertise, they were, basically, as knowledgeable as kindergarteners. As a matter of fact, saving a human being's life without the help of their "superpowers", thus relying on traditional technology and medicine, wasn't something they would do on a daily basis.
In one swift look, Squalo could understand all of that.
"Because," He replied, "That's the best solution. Right after the battle with Jagger, I admit Mammon's illusion kinda saved the shit of me. But I can't count on that trick every time in the future. If, for any reason, Mammon finds herself unable to generate the illusion, I'm fucked. I'd be of no use for you nor for anyone else. A dead weight. And when that time comes, it'll be too late to think about surgery or shit. I won't let that kind of shit happen. Do you get that? From the beginning, it was only a temporary solution."
Xanxus humph-ed. "So you're okay on dying on a shitty operating table like a lowlife dog. Doesn't really suit your fucking pride shit." Squalo said nothing, he just frowned. Suddenly, Xanxus snapped. Just like a lightening, his hand extended to pull hard and painfully at the silver mane. Squalo let the lighter fall on the ground, wincing. "Shitty shark. You'd better not fucking think about that. Your life is mine. You're gonna lose it dying on the fucking battle field for me like a fucking good soldier, got that? Not because some fucking surgeons forgot some shit in your belly or whatsoever."
"Vooi, I got it. Now let got, dammit, that hurt!" The long haired man finally freed himself from the raven's grip. He glared at the latter before crouching down before his Boss. "Seriously, what's wrong with you, Xanxus? You're not even that bitchy when I botch a mission. Does your stomach hurt again? I already told you not to eat all those steaks. It's bad for your health." He caught sight of the time on his phone then quickly got up. "Che. Anyway I gotta go now. Gotta wake up early tomorrow. Fucking clinic is twenty kilometers from here. Shitty traffic jams till I get there-"
"I'll go with you."
Squalo, who had already his back to his Boss, slowly turned back, unsure whether what he heard was truly true or only the fruit of his dehydrated imagination.
"Ah?"
…
The three men were all sat in a small and rather humble office, eyes agonizingly aggressed by a flickering neon light.
"So, so, Squalo…" After a quarter of hour inspecting the shark's vitals, Shamal was leafing through his files, not casting a single sight to his patient, and for once actually looking like a real doctor.
At first sight, Shamal's new clinic wasn't the first place one would think about when it comes to heavy surgery – it's not even a place anyone would purposely go for treating a simple flu: the place was, as I said, very humble, well hidden in Palermo's suburbs. There wasn't even something one could honestly call a car park. A small waiting room was immediately overlooking Shamal's office. They had to wait for almost two hours before they were received inside, and meanwhile they had to put up with old women's gossip about their kids, about their giving birth, and even once or twice they saw a nurse leaving the office with a bowl full of blood.
Just how could anyone go to those kinds of places, the Varia boss simply couldn't tell. Squalo, on the other hand, was just sitting quietly, reading a magazine after another, ignoring a dreadful scream mixed with a hammering sound coming from upstairs. Nevertheless, there was no other choice but that place. That is, in spite of the gloomy aspect of it, that place was, against all odds, the hideout of one of the best clandestine surgeons of the world.
"So, so, Squalo…" Shamal mumbled again before looking up at the silverette, this time smiling. What an unnerving man. Do you know what the asshole said when the Vongola put him on charge of Squalo's surgery? 'A surgery? On one of you? What the heck did you do again… Anyway, I'm not moving for a guy. What, what's that, Hippocrates, just what the fuck's that… Oh. Oooh. So you were talking about Squalo. Of course, if it's him, it's okay. Send him here. I'd be glad to see him anytime.' Fucking pervert. "It looks like everything is pretty fine. No major disease, no organ dysfunction, perfect blood pressure (in spite of your work)."
"Yeah."
"Everything's okay, so why are still fucking here?" Xanxus' voice uselessly raised.
"But just one little remark." The pervert doctor tapped on the paper in his hand. "Your cigarette consumption. You should try to reduce it a little."
"You know, Shamal," Squalo uttered, "I say one packet a day, but that bastard Boss here is stealing most of them every day."
"And also coffee consumption."
"Ah, yeah. Ah, and one more thing. If I'm not wrong, I recall something like a grandfather or an uncle of mine died from something like a heart attack. Is that bad?"
Shamal spun on his chair. "Uhm… The risk does exist, then…" He hurriedly scribbled on the papers. "But it should be okay. Anyway you'll be given a suitable treatment to avoid the risk of reject."
"Ah, okay."
"Scum," the raven was talking to Shamal. "You're going to give a new heart to that trash? (He pointed at Squalo with his thumb)"
Shamal raised an eyebrow. "Well, yes. This is what we call an orthotopic procedure. The donor's heart had already been thoroughly inspected. Basically, it's fairly healthy and presents more or less the same proportions as the patient's, so we can without too much doubt completely replace it with the new one…"
"But it's still possible to keep the trash's heart inside. Without totally removing it."
Squalo furrowed at his Boss. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"Technically," Shamal was explaining with a thick and almost uninterested air, "After Jagger's shot, Squalo's original heart had been badly hit. I understand keeping the original heart altogether with attaching a new one would increase the chance of recovery in case of rejection… But in our case, without Mammon's illusion, he'd have almost nothing left, do you get that, Xanxus? You've all seen the radios. There's no recovery to be expected anymore."
The raven grunted and crossed his arms. He was with no doubt in a bad mood, his personal slave could tell. "He'll have the first option." The silverette crudely stated. "So all I have to do is take the fucking medicines and leave?"
Shamal started a little, but he still was smiling. "Uhm, yeah. I'll just have you come back here next week for a checkup."
"Aa. Get the fuck up, Xanxus. I'm not waiting for fucking hours after those old hags again. Ah, thanks Shamal. See you next week, then."
"Yeah, bye." Shamal said, all beaming while watching the long haired man leaving his office, utterly ignoring the latter's Boss glaring at him.
As expected, waiting for the damn medicines took as long as the staying in the waiting room. And on top of everything, traffic jams were still waiting for them outside. Damned be rush hours.
"Fucking family cars and fucking kids." Xanxus was grumbling from the passenger seat (Squalo was the one driving). "Can't they just leave their shitty offspring rotting in boarding schools? Or they just won't understand how annoying they can be for normal people…"
"Voooi, stop fucking complaining, Xanxus!" Squalo roared. "You're the one who insisted on coming with me. So fucking stop complaining about every little shit. Just what's fucking wrong with you since yesterday?"
The tanned man silenced, but not for long. "I've never heard about that sick relative of yours."
"Sick relative?" Squalo vaguely looked into the rearview. "Ah, that was just uncle Cristoforo. One funny guy. But we've never had to talk too much and he died when I was still in kindergarten so-"
"Squalo." The tanned man's voice was a little louder than before. "Have you even read about prognosis for that kind of surgery? You could die after ten years, seven or even only one year after the intervention."
The shark laughed and started the car. Before them, the traffic was gradually decongested. "For Lord's sake, I can't fucking believe you actually made some research about that. So that's why the light from your room still wasn't out when I passed that morning. You see, a stray bullet while I'm on a mission could also kill me tomorrow. I can't control the future. It's all relative, and we're in that kind of ugly job, too. No one can tell when nor where they're going to die. You can't tell whether it's your very last meal with you family, or if you'll still live long enough to play with your grandchildren and the children of your grandchildren. Xanxus, you more than anyone else should be aware of that fact." His expression unexpectedly turned serious. "But believe me, Xanxus. Yesterday, when I said it's the best solution for all of us, I wasn't joking. I'm not planning on relying on stranger's strength to serve you. If my fate is to die lamentably during a fucking operation, then so be it. This only means I hadn't been strong enough, that I hadn't been worthy enough to fight by your side – well, even if I think that would be a fucking lame ending for me. But so long as breath of life is in me, I'll fight for you. And I'll fight for our goals. It may not be on the battle field, even Shamal's shitty clinic is okay. I just want you not to forget my oath."
"Che. Presumptuous shark."
Nonetheless, never once before that instant did Xanxus feel the gap between both males' maturity. Let's be honest, the raven was scared (concerned) of what might happen to his right hand man, whilst the shark trash was viewing all the matter like a mere formal transaction.
And also, let's be honest, never once before did Xanxus want to fuck his second in command as much as at that precise moment.
TBC
