There's no vocabulary for love within a family, love that's lived in but not looked at.
-- The Elder Statesman, T. S. Eliot

Hayato took Bianchi's face between his hands, turned it towards him and said, "Don't."

No goggles, Bianchi thought in the reflex that had slowly been ingrained in her over the course of nine years, and hid her face with a hand. Distantly she realised that she'd dropped the bag she'd packed with back-up weapons, and began to bend to pick it up, tilting her head so that her hair slid over her face. Hayato pulled her up by the arm before she could touch the bag.

"Don't," he begged. "Shit, Sis, you haven't even changed!" He gestured at the clothes she'd worn to Reborn's funeral; neat, light black things that she'd let I-Pin pick.

She couldn't leave with only these clothes, Bianchi realised belatedly. She'd get cold, attract too much attention ... but the considerations became distant as she looked back at Hayato's desperate face.

How could he look at her? Maybe crying had left her face so red and swollen that it had changed enough not to affect him.

She didn't want to cry in front of Hayato, and she couldn't stop. Bianchi turned and took a step towards the door of the weapon stock room.

Hayato caught her shoulders so sharply that she jerked. "Please. Don't go. Not tonight. Not tomorrow, either. You can't go out and fight like this. Not now." He gathered her into his arms as he spoke, and when she stood sobbing against him his voice turned dark and livid. "We'll get the Millefiore. I swear we'll kill them for doing this. Not now."

"But Reborn," she said, and couldn't get her protest further than that. Bianchi wrenched away to go and do what she had to, but her brother's grip was tight and he kept hold of one arm.

"Sis, we need you! We can't afford to have you running off half-cocked at a time like this. Please!"

He was looking her in the eyes.

Hayato was an idiot, and he meant I need as much as he meant we, even if he might not know it. Bianchi couldn't move.

She let him wrap an arm around her shoulders and steer her out of the weapons stock room, to a lounge a few doors down. He sat beside her on a couch, pressing her closer the harder she cried. "Sh, sh..." Hayato said helplessly, and eventually began stroking her hair. When he took her to her room, Bianchi ignored the click of him locking her in and gave over to grief.

. . .
. . .

The lights in the corridor brightened and dimmed in imitation of the days passing aboveground, but Bianchi didn't count how many times.

At last she stood, cleaned herself up, and went to the kitchen. There was usually someone in there, and if not, the smell of cooking tended to bring people closer. Reborn had believed in the support and value of family above all else, and would have been disappointed in her for losing sight of that. There was a jumping in her chest at the sound of footsteps at the door, and she turned and almost wanted to smile at whoever was coming in.

It was Hayato, and for him she would have smiled - and then he turned pale and staggered back, one hand over his eyes and the other over his mouth. "Damn it! Where are the goggles?"

"What?" Bianchi said.

"What do you mean--" he started, annoyed, and then said in a softer voice, "Never mind. It's ... not a problem."

"It had better not be," Bianchi snarled, and past his fingers she caught glimpses of Hayato looking surprised.

"I stayed here because of you." She slammed the blade of the carving knife she'd been using into the counter, but didn't let the handle go. "You looked me in the face you said you can't stand and told me to leave Reborn unavenged - Hayato! Now you act again like, like you can't-- How dare you."

Bianchi gritted her teeth and, with difficulty, unclenched her fingers from the knife handle. She strode forwards and hauled her brother down by his tie, and they were face to face. "I love him more," she said, a threat.

Hayato looked scared, though the threat had no shape or direction at all and Bianchi was furious with herself for the weakness of her words - but he was her brother. "I know!" he said, looking confused that she'd bothered to say it. He patted her hand, and then yanked his tie free with more customary aggressiveness. "We'll get them. We definitely will. Okay?"

He looked sick, but more than that he looked worried. He looked right at her, anxious for reassurance. "Sis? I swear..."

She almost regretted that what she'd said was true. If only, somehow, it could bring Reborn back, would she make do without Hayato?

Bianchi pulled him down again, burying her face in his jacket and wrapping her arms fiercely around his shoulders. She squeezed tighter at his sigh of relief. If only didn't matter. Reborn was gone, and she would never let herself find out what life would be without her brother.