"Believe In Me"
Katekyo Hitman Reborn - Tsuna/Yamamoto - 21 June 2010
Prompt - Tsuna supporting his family.
Rating - T (Mention of battle wounds, but no real relationship stuff. Hinting, yes, but not really there...)
Tags - Hurt/comfort
"Tsuna," Yamamoto whispered as he slid around the door frame, movements as languid and smooth as a cat's. He toed forward, bringing forward a sheaf of papers for Tsuna to take when he looked up from the similar stacks piled on his desk. Tsuna smiled and reached forward to take the report, then frowned slightly as he finally took note of Yamamoto's appearance.
Having just come back from a mission, some form of disarray was expected. But this, this was not usual; with buttons torn from a loosely-flying shirt, previously white but now stained deep red with blood and dust; black dress slacks that were now fraying across several slashes scattered along the length of the material; roughly wound and attached bandages wrapped around arms and legs and torso. Even his hair had not escaped damage, with a section at the side all but burnt away. And, now that he looked, that cut, on his chin…
Tsuna strode around the desk quickly, raising a hand to trace the new scar, surprise flitting across his face when the taller assassin flinched away from his touch, only now realising what had originally caught his attention – the lack of Yamamoto's almost constant smile and infectious laugh. Consternation was rising in the forefront of his mind now, and many questions were starting to shoot, rapid-fire, through his thoughts.
"Yamamoto, what happened?"
Takeshi shrugged slowly, trying to act nonchalant and yet lean away from Tsuna's searching gaze and hand at the same time. A soft sigh, and he turned quickly when he felt the hand grip his shoulder. Tsuna's eyes were no longer held the sweet care that had been in them only seconds ago, now they were serious and very much the eyes of the Vongola Tenth.
"Yamamoto—"
"Just read the report." Short, precise, and so much not like the swordman. He slumped slightly, annoyed now at his own performance – for God's sake, he had promised himself that he would not make Tsuna worry – and tried again. "It's nothing, really, Tsuna. I'm just a little tired now." Trying to smile, to pull his lips back into his usual mask of stupidity and naivety, he knew it wasn't working when Tsuna's frown only got deeper, the worry etched in his eyes more pronounced. Still, a laugh, forced and far too high pitched, then, "I'll just go have a rest, and then I'll be down for dinner. Ah, maybe I'll even help the girls tonight; we could have sushi! Just like the old days, huh, Tsuna—"
"Yamamoto." Tsuna's gaze hardened, sharpening into what Takeshi knew was the Hyper Intuition taking hold, and then softened again into a kind of caring, questioning understanding. He smiled, letting the forgotten hand on Yamamoto's shoulder rise slightly to brush at the stained cloth wrapped around the other's neck, trying his damn hardest not to let his reaction show when Yamamoto tensed at the fingers sweeping over the new wounds, layered on top of new ones.
"I know, Yamamoto. I could read everything in the report, and you could go and hide in your room until you can control your smile," said smile – attempt, his traitorous mind supplied – shattered as Tsuna tore apart his little lies, "or we could sit down now, and you could tell me about what happened. All about it, and no leaving things out like you and the other's do in the official reports." Another flinch – since when had he known they did that? – and then an almost relaxation as the hand on his neck moved to his shoulder again, pressing into the tightly wound muscle just below.
"And what if," a smile, true and very, very wry this time, "what if I don't want to talk about it?" Yamamoto regarded Tsuna carefully, gauging his reaction as he finally,finally, let down all the walls and the masks, letting his boss see the true extent of the exhaustion that plagued his mind and his body and his soul. And almost lost another piece of his heart when despair threatened at the amount of pain that registered in that one gaze from his boss.
Said boss sighed and let his hand on Yamamoto's shoulder still, using it instead to draw the taller man into a tight embrace, still careful with the injured flesh, completely ignoring the swordsman's indignant and surprised cry. "That's fine," he whispered, sad smile appearing as Yamamoto's head fell to rest on his shoulder as, finally, the body in his arms relaxed and the wet stain of salty tears started to grow on his shirt. He smiled, berating himself for the millionth time for dragging someone like Yamamoto into this business, simultaneously thanking the heavens that he still had such people at his back in all this madness, and let his hands run soothingly over the planes of Yamamoto's back.
"That's fine," he whispered, and then, with a stirring of Intuition egging him on, continued, "Whenever you need me, Yamamoto, I'll be here for you. Just believe in me as I believe in you.
"Afterall, I am your Boss, and you are my Guardian."