Originally posted here: http(colon)//community(dot)livejournal(dot)com/inkshots/13039(dot)html#cutid1
The first of my ficlets for 64damn_prompts on LJ.
Disclaimer: Katekyo Hitman Reborn and its characters belong to Amano Akira.
Warning: Blood. Implied crime.
L'amore domina senza regole
Restricted File 001: 2 AM
Written: Thursday, October 08, 2009, 12:30:13 AM
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Time: 02:00:59 PM
Location: Vongola Underground Base, Namimori City, Japan
Note: Requiring security clearance of "Guardian" for full access to complete surveillance file.
Archive Summary: Surveillance file fragment on Vongola Guardians, File 002 of Archive 007.
Archive File Status: Downloading 59.9578345 percent complete...
BEGIN TRANSMISSION OF RESTRICTED ARCHIVE FILE 001
She lays still on her side, under the sheets, a pillow under her head, another in her arms, listening to her own exhale of breath and watching the numerals on the bedside alarm clock glow. Her hand moves to rest on the top of her left breast, feeling for her painful heartbeat: Her chest aches— none of her organs are failing but she still feels a painful ache somewhere in her being… Though her eyes are feeling heavy, her fears are preventing her from falling into her dreams… She's afraid of what she'll see in them. Instead of dreaming, she tries to imagine new shapes from the faint shadows cast by glowing numbers and folds on her blanket; that one over her leg looks like a kitten, curled up and sleeping… she remembers that she should be sleeping— But she constantly looks at the glowing numbers on the bedside alarm clock, holding a pillow, legs tangled in the sheets and waiting, fearful and worrying. Her nightmares on nights like these, if she falls asleep, show what her fears are and the 'what-ifs' in her mind; she fears of dreaming of dangerous developments with ugly endings and she ends up worrying even more... She feels as if the wait never ends despite it already being early morning.
The bed feels cold to her even though she's been laying in it for four hours, the warmth from her body absorbed by the pillow after holding it to her breast for so long; waiting like this each night for an entire week. With her back to the door, she shifts to lay on her other side, listening to her own exhale of breath, feeling the skin of her left leg brush against her right when she moves to kick off the tangle of a blanket she has made with her feet. Then the door opens and she hears the quiet, sock- muffled footsteps.
She doesn't move; pretending to be asleep, almost expecting him, perhaps, to slip under the covers beside her, maybe wrap his arm around her waist in a vain effort to make sure she stays there until he wakes in the morning. (He doesn't complain about her not being there when he rouses but she feels more than enough guilt for often suddenly leaving without telling him anyway-- Especially after long periods of time that often begin with her failure to bid him good- bye or letting him know she has to be somewhere else for a job and leaving it to the Boss decide for her whether to let him know where she is or not.) Yet he doesn't do anything else and stands over her, at the edge of the bed, gazing down at her in the bed perhaps… She can feel his eyes on her, taking in everything despite the dim. The air between them feels odd; feels cold…
Finally she decides then that she cannot wait until he wakes up at the crack of dawn to be able to say anything to him (she doesn't know when she herself will have to leave his side; she wonders how much he worries about her when he is the one waiting) and sits up to face him.
There is a bit of a startle in his movements but he does nothing and says nothing when she gets up from the mattress and onto her knees. The faint smell of drying blood gets onto her short, thin nightgown; the blood that isn't drying yet gets onto her skin but she hardly notices as her slender arms envelopes his broad shoulders and she pulls him closer toward her; holds him tightly as if she fears he is a mirage that disappears the closer one gets, like the illusions she creates. Her fingers move to touch his face, to wipe away the slowly drying blood on his cheeks and thread through his damp hair (what has he been doing? His skin is cold and his clothes feel as if he'd been standing in the middle of pouring rain or fallen into a river…)…
The simple act of being able to touch him, to feel that he is real makes that heavy burden on her heart lift just a little… But only for the time being; it will never disappear for as long as they are alive, for as long as they are sworn to each other: it's a burden a mafia wife bears; living in loneliness, warming a bed for a man whom she would often be uncertain would return home on the same night, forever living in fear her beloved would never return to her alive… or even faithful (But she is confident he has not committed any crime other than the one the Boss has ordered to be done tonight. He, of all people, would not think to make one against their vows.) He lowers his head to press his cool forehead against her own; she hardly cares that he's getting her skin and her nightgown dirty… Finally his lips gently touch hers and he whispers to her a quiet "I'm home".
She smiles at him, relieved, and lets him wipe the forming tear in her eye before she asks him like any other wife who's stayed up late waiting for her late-night, hard-working beloved what time does he think it is now, what kept him and why had he only been able to return at this hour.
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A/N: Prompts and titles are taken from the 64damn_prompts comm on LiveJournal.
L'amore domina senza regole: Italian for "love rules without rules" (and given that this is a pairing that isn't very popular with the rest of fandom, I think it's a fitting title). This one-shot is based on drabble # 3 ("Return") of "Code of Silence" (nospeakingrule's random set). "Return" is in Gokudera's POV; "2 am" is in Chrome's.
Following the title of this fic series, I won't have any word count limits placed on this set. These could be drabbles, ficlets, or full length one-shot stories...