Title: fight on!
Pairing: Gokudera/Haru
Rating: M
Disclaimer: Amano Akira owns all rights to Katekyo Hitman Reborn.
Summary: Haru takes on the only fighting style she's been exposed to, in order to help Gokudera.

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A lot of people don't understand the power of the Vongola famiglia. Gokudera takes it on himself to correct these people on their views. It's not always a fair fight as dynamite has got to be the least subtle weapon and Tsuna doesn't like to hear on the TV about how another shopping centre has had to close down because the plaster walls have been blasted wide. So he sticks to fist fights when he's limited to a small space.

Still, enemies keep arriving and it's hard to show a normal face during school periods when your cheeks are swollen and lips are cut. Skipping class becomes natural to Gokudera, his grades don't slip and once the teacher loses his expectations of using the genius boy in school competitions, (it's amazing how fast they backtrack when you offer to shove TNT up their backsides) he just doesn't come in on days where the Tenth is free enough to fret unnecessarily.

It's a bit unavoidable that this round is on the breezy school roof and below in the quadrangle, watching the everyday soccer game, is Tsuna having lunch with that idiot Yamamoto. At least Gokudera knows that while the baseball freak is annoying, he's entertaining enough to keep the Tenth distracted if the game isn't.

Still, he wants to sort this out before someone charges up the three flight stairs and tries to stop him. It was easiest when civilians stayed out. Less blood, no records.

Surrounded by the boys from 2-A and 5-C, Gokudera scowled, his brows brought to a point. Were the mafia all recruiting from Namimori High now? If so, these lackeys had no tact, shoving a piece of paper into his locker and expecting him to show. Digging his fingers into his pockets, he fingered the small lights that he had. There were fifteen against him, and they were weak looking pieces of shit. He could easily take them on but he still wasn't sure why he's been called out.

He finds out soon enough when a red-faced idiot starts on him for stealing the year group's best looking girl. Stunned, because he doesn't think about the other occupants in a classroom, doesn't know any of these fools' names and certainly doesn't pay any attention to girls, that Gokudera stumbles at the first push from behind. Shit. When did they get behind me? He's quick to recover, and gets in two good punches before the roaring starts.

Damn, we're going to get caught soon, he thinks.

In seconds, it becomes a tangle of bodies that Gokudera doesn't have time to think strategy. Just lots of swearing, shoving, punching and biting whatever is close. He's unable to hear much over the yelling of the circle. The rush of adrenaline pumping through his veins has kicked in, and he gives it as good as he can, as others take the places of the fallen. He jabs someone with his elbow, and manages to scrape someone's cheek with his knuckles. The mob's skill is quite stupid. Most of them can only pull at his clothes and yank on his locks, because he's sandwiched between too many of them for them to find enough holds to place serious damage.

Someone knees him in the stomach and he wheezes, his sight going white for a second. Gokudera inwardly curses at leaving his switchblade on the bedside table. It would've come in handy for threats. This scenario was a tight fix. He's always done better at long distance.

He thinks, if only I could get to the fence and hold them back long enough to light the fuse…

The roof door slams open, but no one pays attention, since the voice of a teacher doesn't rip out. But later, when Gokudera's thinking about the day's events, he's not at all surprised that he remembers Haru's gasp cutting through the shouting.

"G-GOKUDERA-KUN?!"

With his face sandwiched against the wall, Gokudera swears, a line of blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. He's got two heads under each arm, and someone's scrabbling at his back, pulling down his shirt and throttling him tight. "Fuck." The one thing I need is for that loud mouth to show. He doesn't dare look down over the edge of the roof, doesn't want to see the Tenth looking up with a horrified expression that'd fill Gokudera's stomach with guilt. Instead, he cranes his neck to Haru, trying to communicate through his eyes, fuck off; I don't want you here. One of the reserves, who's still cracking his knuckles and waiting to get a shot, turns. Dimly, Gokudera hears, "…the hell, he even gets private … girls too?" Luckily, no one touches Miura and Gokudera is secretly relieved, since he's honour-bound by the Tenth to take care of her or die trying, even if she isn't worth it. (Not that Tsuna has ever said that, but Gokudera instinctively knows Tsuna is proud of being the Vongola Tenth.)

Miura is holding a huge bundle of what looks like wrapped bento boxes, but she drops it at the sight. It barely makes a clatter, and he glimpses her crouching down to look at the cracked plastic with a wobbly frown on her face.

He loses sight of her uniform soon.

The brawl gets worse as those in the jeering circle are sufficiently pissed off enough at a girl showing up with homemade food that their actions towards Gokudera as justified. He's lifted away from the wall, and after freeing himself for a second, Gokudera's back to dodging and cuffing around the ventilation shafts. His head hanging down and he's trying to suck in as much air as he can get, but all Gokudera can smell is sweat and blood. He grimaces when someone bites his ankle. Things aren't going so well.

Faintly, he hears Haru's outraged voice. "H-HAHI! All of you shouldn't be fighting! And it's even worse because you're ganging up on Gokudera-kun!"

Everyone ignores her. Gokudera especially doesn't waste his breath. His eyebrow twitches at her words, and now she's taken a stab at his pride, che, as if I need help! he savagely gives a upper-cut to one of the seniors that would do Lawnhead proud to see. But then his right arm is seized by a short, glasses wearing brat and they twist and twist his wrist behind his back until he feels it going white with pain, his shoulder muscles screaming that they'll rip.

"IF THE BOYS DON'T STOP NOW, HARU WILL GO TO THE NEAREST TEACHER SHE MEETS."

Still nothing.

Haru clenches her teeth. She hates being ignored. Planting both of her feet down, she glares around at what she can do. She definitely could do as she threatened, but who knows how bad of a shape Gokudera would be in? So with no one watching her and enough time spent with Bianchi to recognise the power of cooking in dirty fights, Haru bends to her fallen attempts at lunch.

She cups her weirdly shaped onigiri balls, pats them like an officer to a solder's shoulder, and then with some memory of seeing Yamamoto's form when playing ball, arches back and throws it at the nearest head. She doesn't stop to see if it hits, (it does because there's no room to avoid in that mess) and continues with her assault, packing away those onigiri like snowballs, letting them explode over some poor, confused unfortunate.

One of the swimming club members gets a salty pickle in his eye and flees, the sting too much. Two find what they think is blood running down their neck, is actually runny egg. A skinny fellow accidentally slips on tomato slices cunningly thrown on the ground, and with him, three fall when he flails for balance. With satisfaction, Haru launches the last of her disposable chopsticks at turned heads, and finally, the bento box itself. She giggles to herself when it brains someone and they look up at the sky, wondering if something had fallen.

It's when a boy scowls and comes at her with his hands outstretched, realising she's the one playing mischief, that Haru's ready to end this. Even though it's really funny to see the chaos, inside she really is white hot furious at this one-sided 's been keeping an eye on Gokudera the whole time, trying to help out. His opponents have slowly weeded themselves out, and now there's only five on him.

Haru isn't as stupid as Gokudera thinks she is. Five is still plenty to keep him busy and boys are definitely stupid enough not to know when to stop. She's been keeping her back to the wall so as not to get ambushed and while she's been attacking, Haru's analysed the situation, listening to the jealous yells. It's not hard to read who's leading this motley group of hotheads, as one particular boy keeps coming back to jab at Gokudera and race away.

Except now, he's trying to mess with her.

Haru, grim with the knowledge she'll have to pay for all of her actions eventually, swipes her last weapon off the ground. When the boy is close to grabbing her shoulders, she quickly opens a hot water canister she'd lovingly packed, and splashes the steaming miso contents over his face. With a horrible yell, he tumbles to a side, clutching his scalded face.

Standing before him, she taps her foot to get his attention. Bianchi was right, when used correctly, anything could be a weapon. Wearing what is hopefully a thunderously angry frown on her face, Haru grinds out her terms. She doesn't think he can see her, his eyes all weeping and red and his hands still hovering over his red puckered skin. Still, his ears can't have been damaged.

"Haru wants this to stop now. If you don't, Haru will tell all of the girls how terrible you are. Haru will tell them that you tried to hurt their idol. Don't think Haru doesn't know what this is about. Fushiyama-chan would be very disappointed, you know." She lets the last of the miso drip from the container onto his neck. The leader flinches, his shirt still drenched in tofu and bits of nori and winces when the shuffle of her footsteps comes close.

She can tell he's broken. She's willing to wait now.

Slowly, one by one, the boys notice the cringing fool lying in front of Haru. Confusion soon settles in, and hot tempers cool slowly. But eventually, the boys cease their fighting. One hesitantly breaks away to kneel at Haru's feet, warily he watches her while he offers a shoulder to his friend. Both swear revenge at her, not even realising she's not from their school, she huffs at them and threatens to throw the flask at their heads.

When the last back disappears down the stairs, Haru runs over to Gokudera. He doesn't even have the strength to push her away, all he can do is quickly lick his fingertips and pinch the tips of his lit sticks. As Haru natters away in his ear, spouting hahi! and blood!, he quickly slides them back where he'd pulled them from. They weren't the power fuses he uses for real enemies (he can recognise that those idiots will flee at the first hiss of a tube), but fireworks could still hit a powerful punch if he didn't take care.

"Shut up, woman. You shouldn't have put your nose into someone else's business!"

Apparently he wasn't subtle enough because she soon rounds on him. "You're using your dangerous explosions again! Hahi! Haru remembers the first time you used them! You got Haru thrown into the river and Tsuna-san had to save me!"

"Che." He tries to drag his arm back when Haru slings his left arm over her shoulder. She drags him up, and they both nearly over balance. He accidentally knocks his head into hers, his cheek bumping her forehead. "…Have you been taking lessons from my sister?"

"Humph. Haru had to use what was available. It worked, didn't it?"

He flicked a gaze at her; her cheeks slightly pink, her mouth pouted. He turned away, looking at the damage. The roof looked like a battlefield; food plastered everywhere, puddles of miso soup and a slice of tuna sliding off the rail. He allowed himself a slight snort, she'd been a bit helpful, he'd admit.

"… Not a word to the Tenth."

Haru beamed. As she dragged him towards the stairs, Gokudera had to take it slow. He was still having trouble getting his breath back to normal, and his nose was bleeding a bit. With as much haste as she could muster, Haru tried to get the both of them downstairs, to the second level where the infirmary was. She hoped that the pervert doctor wasn't there, but as she sighed at Gokudera's grumbling, she'd done the best she could. All there was left was to gloat a bit.

The roof door slammed shut behind them.