So this is a small one-shot. Happy Birthday to Victimofmywoes. This is for her-because she deserves it and I wanted to give her something.
Summary: It was just like any other mission Varia had. Completely normal; everything went as planned, well, until Xanxus showed up. One-shot.
Rating: T
Warnings: Language
Pairings: XS (Can be seen as friendship).
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort.
Un-beta'd [ran out of time to get it beta'd]. Hopefully nothing is overly bad.
Losing Yourself
The night was eerie, the clouds were blocking out any source of possible moonlight, giving off a shadowy appearance to the street with the constantly flickering streetlights.
The motel was nothing special, home of sewer rats and cockroaches. It was two floors of rotting wood that would creak and tremble under any possible weight as you took a cautionary step onto the grimy stairs. The handrail was sickly rusted and the paint had long ago peeled off.
This is what thirty Euros a night will get you, a cheap motel dump in the middle of a hick town in Sans Marino. He didn't even want to go on this trip; all the houses crammed together on hills, each varying in colour-much like all of Italy. But he mainly did not want to go because of his partner, the person he was punished with: Fran.
That little freak, wearing that stupid noticeable hat, refusing to remove it for the sake of the job. He was a disgrace to Varia, a student of one of the Vongola pigs and a bratty twenty three year old who refused to grow up. His breathing pissed Squalo off.
He was just flopped out on the bed, not bothering to change out of his clothes like they were supposed to-get rid of all evidence. His dorky hat still perched on his head as he slept on a fully made cruddy bed.
Ignoring the nuisance he moved out of the room and into the bathroom, stripping off his soiled clothing. Noting the small blood patches that stood out amongst the black fabric of his shirt and pants, luckily no blood was on his face-that would have been a dead give away to the motel manager, cops would be involved and it is a well known fact that the police and mafia do not necessarily see eye to eye.
Squalo raised tinted red hands to the mirror and shrugged it off before pushing them under lukewarm water. He could still feel the hot blood against his hands as he plunged his sword into the man's chest, whispering a silent prayer on the man's behalf before quickly fleeing with Fran.
The water turned pink and his face seemed to grow older just from standing there. His thirty-seven years of life slowly circling the drain as he lost count of the number of people he had killed, the haunting image of the mother and child who had gotten in the way years prior, all of it clinging onto his body and deteriorating him. Thirty-seven and he looked in his mid-forties. His hair still long and silver, though sometimes he can still imagine the blood still streaked through the strands from a messy job.
Shaking it off and closing the tap he took a seat on the stained toilet seat. He hadn't seen any of the Varia –together, in a long time same as the Vongola family. Since the brat of a tenth actually stepped up as boss there has been a lot of jobs, mostly just to make nice with other families-because Tsuna was too naïve and wanted to make allies rather than enemies. Though the enemies the family did had was dealt with by Varia.
Although still naïve, his hands were mostly clean. He sent others to do his dirty work, didn't care about the strain that it put on people's families. Nobody could hold onto a relationship for long, Bel tried and failed. Got divorced four times, and has three kids.
Squalo shook it off, rendering it Bel's problem to keep his children safe and not the family's. Yet sometimes, Squalo's mind would just stray there and stay. He often wondered how Ryohei was able to keep his girlfriend or how even Tsuna had gotten an actual date from Kyoko-even though she knew about the business. He found it immensely unfair.
He knew Vongola would not exist if it wasn't for the guardians and the Tsuna, but he was bitter about them-more like he hated them. He idly wondered if he were to switch Yamamoto with himself if the kid would have guts enough to kill without blinking-without thought or reason why. Just do.
Truth was, he wouldn't be able to. Maybe only Mukruo and the cloud kid (Hibari was it…? He could never remember his name), because they worked for themselves. Sure, the assisted the family when needed, but for self-interest only. That's why they weren't flawed; weren't trash. They could stomach and stand to do what Varia does; they were the only tolerable two out of the group; it didn't matter either way, they were Vongola scum. Just like Fran.
He got off the toilet, the tiles under his feet cold and stained as he expertly moved to the gray duffle bag in the corner near the curtain that hid a rickety shower. He pulled out a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, changing quickly into them and washing his hands again, several times applying soap trying to scrape off the dried blood from under his nails.
His fingers were pruned and pink when he finally quit and left the crusty bathroom behind. He saw Fran still lying in the same spot, sleeping peacefully. Another thing why Fran was dirt-he was able to sleep at night, not dream, get lost in anything he wanted. Squalo didn't have that, he sometimes had nightmares-though nobody knew- of the people he's killed.
Though they sometimes blended together, to create some hellish monster. He never remembers names, but faces-faces were hard to forget.
He sighed and shook his hand, grabbing the green plastic keycard from the table and opened the door, listening to it creak as it moved and groan as he closed it firmly. He tried hard not to care about his kills-it was his job; it was his life.
Since he was twenty he's been in the business, killing. He got to be recognized as one of the best swordsmen in the world by killing and defeating and winning….but this was different. This was…painful. He no longer felt like he was winning, he no longer felt accomplished for defeating someone more powerful.
Maybe he was just having a mid-life crisis.
He didn't care; he just wanted this guilt to disappear, to leave him alone. Why didn't these dream people understand it was for the job?
"You know better than to be out."
Squalo stared at him, the man who he called his boss. They've known each other for twenty-three years, a lifetime. This was the man who started it all; his first kill was for Xanxus, his first kiss went to the man too, and now his first mid-life crisis was going to include him? He was just a bad omen.
"What do you want?"
Xanxus never did anything without a reason. If he showed up now, there was a reason. His perfectly un-styled black hair along with his threatening brown eyes and his tall proud stand. His coat flapping lazily in the gentle breeze, the man still never wore the damn thing.
He was just pissing Squalo off by being here.
"Walk." He demanded, tilting his head forward before spinning on his heel and swiftly walked down the empty sidewalk. Squalo glared at the retreating back, hating himself for knowing he was going to obey the man even though he wanted to be far away from him right now.
Squalo quickly walked to catch up to his boss, and slowed down matching each of his steps with his own, just listening to the quietness that came with being here. Something that never happened during the day; there was no such place as a quiet place in daylight within Italy.
He saw Xanxus take a quick glance at him from the corner of his eye before he redirected it to in front of him. His annoying polished shoes echoing off the stone pathway as the moved down the hill and past several dark houses.
Squalo became used to silence with Xanxus. He rarely spoke, and when he did he was either demanding for something absurd or he was taking charge of a situation and showing true leadership. He was a great boss, that's why Squalo gave him the Varia boss position; he knew Xanxus was built to be a boss.
"You have vacation time," Xanxus told, voice cold and detached just like normal.
"Yeah…so?"
He stopped, as did Squalo. He watched as his boss turned to him, his eyes hard and set as he spoke in concise words in a tone that left no argument.
"Repeat that." Squalo demanded. He must have misheard.
"You are on vacation until further notice." He told, again. His calm persona just enraged Squalo, took away the one thing he was able to do-the one thing that kept him anchored to something (even if it was murder).
"You can't do that!" he cursed out, ignoring the constant chirping of crickets.
"I just did."
He gave Squalo a scrutinizing look before sighing and turning his head up to the hopeless black sky.
"Did I do something wrong?" Squalo asked, determined to figure out why he seemingly had just been fired, which is just impossible. You cannot get fired from being in the mafia.
"No." Xanxus sternly told, his voice clear and rang through his hear like a bullet. "There's not a lot of work anymore," he told. "The tenth brat is making a lot of allies."
"I hear Fran has another mission in Germany," he bitterly spat out. Fran had told him earlier about needing to buy a German-to Italian dictionary.
"He does."
Squalo fumed. If the brat had another job then there were plenty of things he could do.
"I don't understand…" he mumbled out, defeated. He would never go against Xanxus even if his entire being right now pissed him off.
"It's not for you to understand," he told. He tilted his head to see Squalo and the miserable face he had, the defeated look that never held him down before. He was getting older-no denying it, hell even he was thirty-nine. He had some serious thinking to do, especially about training a new generation of kids to take over Varia. It wasn't pleasant but had to be done.
He took a few steps away from Squalo, not bothering to care if he was following. "Happy Birthday." He told, and left the swordsman there alone on the stone sidewalk in the middle of a deserted street.
XxxxXXxxxXxXxXxxxxX
Two weeks he had been sitting at his lavish apartment doing nothing. He watched a few movies, but nothing worth re-watching. Squalo just could not understand why he was fired-that was what he was calling it. What else do you call it?
He sighed and kicked off the dorky slippers that he had gotten from Fran (secret Santa) and lay back on the lazy-boy couch watching as an infomercial commented on how you could lose seven pounds in one week. Completely bullshit adds with unnatural flavours to them, but there was nothing else on-not that he cared.
He watched a few soap opera's, but he didn't vastly care about anything the show was doing. It killed the time Monday to Friday from five to six. He vaguely remembered hearing Oprah's voice and laughed at himself about how he was virtually a depressed housewife.
He had resorted to rearranging his furniture…five times. It ended up back where he had it originally; his bed was still in the middle of the room with the television hanging off the wall above the long dresser he owned. He didn't particularly care about how his apartment looked, it was somewhere to come home to. Not that he had anyone to come home to.
The doorbell was something new, something he was not expecting in his bland soap opera watching routine. Lazily lifting himself off the couch, dusting off some potato chip crumbs as he wobbled towards the door and peeking through the small peep-hole.
He groaned and pried the door open to let in the manic that he had once called a coworker and distant friend.
"Look at you!" he gasped and frowned in a way that spoke about being over dramatic.
"What do you want?" he grumbled out and marched back to his couch, as the commercial about a razor played.
"I came to see you!" the man chirped and smiled bouncing into the room, and shutting the door with the heel of his foot.
Lussuria always made himself welcome and comfortable even if he wasn't welcome or invited him.
"Go away."
"Oh come on!" he whined playfully and sat on the couch, carefully taking off his Gucci shoes. "I just got back and this is what I get?" he pouted and laughed lightly.
'Just got back' so was still active. Fucking Xanxus lying to him-to his own right hand man…his best friend. Ex-friend now.
"Go away."
"Where have you been?" he complained and ignored the demand to go away. "Nobody has seen you around HQ, which is weird because even Fran said you disappeared before you could report back with your status on the job a few weeks ago."
"Go away." He vainly tried again but he knew it was pointless.
"What's the problem?" his voice changed instantly to a serious tone as he glanced at him.
"Xanxus." He muttered out bitterly and glared at the television hoping to fry the Little Pony with his eyes.
"Hmmm…strangely nobody's seen him around either," Lussuria commented and tapped his chin in thought. "Did you two fight?"
"No."
"Then what's the problem?" Lussuria commented, "I thought you would be off with Bel on that France trip but you didn't go, I was surprised."
Squalo hated Lussuria bringing up things he knew he couldn't be doing anymore. The trip to France, he didn't even know about it-though he vaguely recalled Bel complaining about having to return to France where his second ex-wife was.
"I don't work for Varia anymore." He spat out bitterly, his eyes flashing with unhidden rage.
"What?"
"I. Am. On. Vacation." He spat out, "forever."
"Can you do that?"
"I guess," he growled and stood up, stalking towards his apartment's thick cheery wood door, "Xanxus ordered." He spat out and ripped the door open, not caring that the knob would dent the dry wall, "Now get out."
Lussuria sat shocked but shook it off, like he always does and smiled politely placing his shoes back on and gracefully waltzing towards him. His shoes clinking against the polished hardwood flooring.
"This is for you," He told, as he stood beside Squalo, handing him a neat white envelope with no name or address on it, nothing quite noticeable.
"What is it?"
"I don't know," Lussuria, told "Bel told me to give it to you before he left. Said it was a gift from the boss." He walked into the hallway, his feet dragging against the royal blue carpet.
Squalo slowly closed the door and opened the envelope. The crinkling sound resounding in the quite apartment as he pulled out a baby blue ticket and a piece of paper wrapped securely around the ticket.
He opened the paper, sliding it carefully off the ticket and read what was written. His eyes scanning the delicate writing belonging only to Xanxus, absorbing what was written before glancing at the ticket still held firmly in his hand.
The ticket was to Brazil, one way for a flight that left the next day. He dropped the paper and smiled, forgetting about his job, the pathetic routine he developed, his nameless victims, and that hellish monster. He didn't honestly care about any of it, all he cared about was following his boss' orders faithfully, and for the first time in a long time he felt happy doing just that.
XxxxXXxxxXxXxXxxxxX
The two maids who were hired to clean the apartment for when Squalo left on jobs or for business where there the following day-having received a long distance call asking them to clean for a undisclosed amount of time.
They of course didn't care, as long as they got paid.
As one of the ladies bent down to pick up a paper, having found it right beside the door from when she entered, she read it quickly. She shrugged and tossed it in the trash not really caring to what it had said. It didn't make much sense anyway-who writes something like: Happy Birthday scum. Don't make me wait
Was that okay? Or where they too out of character…? To be honest I had a hard time writing this, but I am proud of it and happy to have written it for Victimofmywoes. Happy Birthday again baby girl!
Yeah the summary isn't the greatest…I was stumped as to what to write.
I actually like the Vongola family...but Vaira doesn't. So I do insult them a lot in this fic-sorry.