.x.X.x.

Into the Mist

Ch. 1

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Dokuro Chrome – Nagi (Inoue Nagi) – was a young girl that almost died from being hit by a car while trying to save a kitten. Which was something that I was not interested in repeating in the slightest, thank you very much. As sad as it was to see an animal get hit by a car, it was better than being left half-dead (even if Mukuro saved me with illusionary organs – emphasis on the if). To tie myself to that boy while he was still such a little shit was not appealing. His ideals were, while understandable, very skewed. Plus, it should by all means be easy enough to avoid even seeing the accident – hopefully. And then there was that, too.

That dream I had – it was definitely a piece of a memory from Mukuro in the Estraneo compound. Which meant that, yes, our minds did seem to be connected somehow – and I didn't quite know how to feel about that at this point. There had been plenty of theories about Chrome and Mukuro's mindscapes being connected – and it seemed they might not be too far off, though the question now was more of why they're connected. Because it wasn't even a for-sure thing that anything would come of said connection if I didn't hit the edge of death, and if I didn't meet Mukuro, did that mean I'd be free from the plot of Katekyo Hitman Reborn? Did I want to be uninvolved? What role would I even play, if not Mukuro's Puppet? And what would I gain?

Not once had I even had to give serious thought to joining a life of crime (because despite what is shown to us, Tsuna inherits a mafia family). I'd been a bitch and a stuck-up little teen before, but I had always shied away from doing things that people considered bad. But Tsuna wasn't a bad kid – none of his Guardians bad either (it would be different with him – the mafia – wouldn't it?). So did I want to keep my nose firmly out of that life? Could I?

(You could be a hero.)

An utterly nocuous whisper hissed in the back of my head.

(Show them how great you are. Show them - )

I swore in English, eyes and fists clenched shut as I shook the wholly selfish thoughts from my head. My fluctuating emotions had me twitchy and somewhat breathless as I watched little flickers of molten indigo flames dance across my fingertips before fading away.

My flames. My Dying Will Flames.

I'd been messing around with my mist flames since the night of my revelation – and that had probably put me on someone's radar by this point, I'd imagine. I hoped it hadn't, but something had to occur either due to my presence as Nagi or due to my flame manipulation – a butterfly flapping it's wings, a ripple in a pond; things like that. There was also the irrevocable fact that I had already died once – reincarnated once – and that just seemed like something that might bond Mukuro and I closer than Chrome-the-Original and he might have been before; mind-wise, at least. Then again with a mother like that woman, Nagi might have discovered illusions early too. If she had it hadn't seemed to have affected her, unless –

"Nagi! Nagi, where are you child?"

I clicked my tongue before pressing myself against the wall and letting reality warp around me, just a bit.

Disappear – please, make me invisible. Don't let her see me.

"Where is that damned child at now?" My 'mother' paused in the middle of the hall, her pretty face in a scowl. "We have guests coming! Nagi! Nagi!

"Oh, I know you can hear me, child." She pursed her lips, eyes peering around the hall and always skimming over me. "Just go to your room, would you? And stay there – and study."

She stalked of, heels clacking sharply against the stone floors as I slowly became visible. It made me want to laugh, loudly and sarcastically – her whole personality, that is. Mother – Wakahisa Kana, formerly Inoue Kana – was a horrible woman who only wanted things in her possession that were useful to her, like my step-father's money. She'd pretty much given up on me the moment I had a hard time learning to speak and write properly, and the only way she would possibly reconsider me was if I turned out smart – which I was, but I wasn't going to give that woman anything.

And I wouldn't be going straight to my room – fuck that. If I did I wouldn't get a proper dinner (at least not at the correct time; I could sneak out under the cover of illusions and get food at any time – id gotten good enough at making myself disappear for that). Going to the kitchens now was my best bet – plus, doing so meant I could have some fun.

"This quite the lovely home you have here." The visitors were an older couple – probably people somehow related to Nobuo's business. "Old homes like this are quite beautiful."

"Aren't they just?" Kana's smile was beautiful itself – fake, but beautiful. Like a picture frame coving a hole in a wall. "There's just something so classy about old houses, right, dear?"

"Yes, yes." Nobuo played along half-heartedly, not very interested in 'house talk.'

At my side my fingers twitched and I sighed, low and light. My brows pinched together as I focused, the energy in me swirling laconically – a cool, syrupy sort of feeling to it. Sharp intakes of breath hit my ears and my eyes flashed open, my mind still focused, to see shadows dart across the back wall with the curtain ruffling as if catching wind behind them.

After all, what was an old house without some ghosts?

"Oh, someone must have left a window open." Kana tittered softly, her eyes darting in a nervous sort of way. "Why don't we just move on to the dining room, now?"

The older woman started a bit, some ways down the hall, her voice genuinely curious. "Wakahisa-san, don't you have a daughter? Will she be joining us too? I would love to meet your darling girl."

Kana's smile became the teensiest bit strained. "Oh, I'm afraid not. She's not feeling too well, so she's staying in her room, the poor thing."

And at that another mysterious wind blew through the hall, lifting Kana's skirt up into the air.

.x.X.x.

Sadly, my experimenting with my mist flames was something that I had to do more sparingly that I wished – and, probably, away from home. Our new maid – a perky young woman named Kazunari Tomoko – was extremely sensitive to flames, it seemed. I had run into her one day after having used my mist flames to trick mother into walking into a column, just outside of the hall where it had happened, and Tomoko had been twitchy, wringing her hands.

Apparently she had 'felt an apparition, in all its coldness, rush over her.' It was an odd thing to hear, and I had been momentarily confused. Later that day I had just taken off the illusions that were cloaking my presence when I saw her again, and once again she claimed to have felt the cold chill of an apparition. It was easy to connect the dots to my illusions after that, and it was a pain.

The girl was also just a pain in general, if I was being honest. Tomoko was the type of sweet that made teeth hurt, and she was far too doting for my liking. Especially considering she wasn't my mother – though I did like her a great more than I liked Kana. Garret – or Wei Garret, our Chinese-American cook, seemed amused by my misfortune with the woman.

"You have the same round type of face, ya know." Garret smirked lopsidedly as he slid a glass of apple juice towards me. "Bet it makes her extra fond of you, that. And them big doe eyes, too. Women go nuts for those."

"Shut up." My voice sounded muffled, as I had spoken partially into my cup. "How would you like it if she was trying to cuddle you and pinch your cheeks?"

Garret guffawed, his shaggy black hair momentarily obscuring his eyes. "Darlin' if that face right there doesn't sweeten up, that apple juice is gonna turn sour."

"Yes well, it's pretty sour as is, so our chef needs to step up his game."

"Ehh? What's that?" Before I could really react, Garret had me in a headlock, his hand mussing my hair so much I was sure it was going to be tangled. "Did I hear you say 'Garret-sama is the best cook, and he deserves a raise' huh? Is that what you said?"

"Ah, no! The little missus' hair!" Garret froze almost instantly, startled. "It's all mussed up. It must be all knotted now."

Garret's smile was kind and sheepish. "Sorry, Kazunari-san. Just having some fun with the little miss. She was pouting, poor thing."

Her hands were cradling my cheeks in an instant and I wanted to smack that amused grin off of his face. "Has something made the sweet little miss sad?"

As she loosed her hold on my face I rubbed my cheeks, eyeing the Chinese-American before hiding my own smile. With a deep breath I prepared myself before looking up, my eyes shimmering and my lower lip jutted out (in the background Garret silently swore).

"Neh, neh, Tomo-chan," I tugged on her sleeve for that extra bit of cuteness. "Gary-chan promised me homemade dango, but he doesn't remember the ingredients. Will Tomo-chan help Gary-chan?"

"Oh, yes, of course Missus Nagi! I need to go out and pick up some laundry supplies anyways!" Tomoko clapped rather enthusiastically, turning her shimmering green eyes onto a weakly smiling Garret. "Let's go, yes? It might take a while to get everything, so we should leave now!"

And as Tomoko all but dragged the young man off, I met Garret's eyes just before they rounded a corner. He lifted his hands, pointed to himself and then to me in the universal 'I'm watching you now' gesture. It was also, in the language of Garret, the 'payback's gonna be a bitch' signal.

"Score: Nagi-chan, One." I chirped before twirling around, an illusionary cloak covering me just before mother came into sight. "Garret, Zero."

.x.X.x.

It was a surprisingly common occurrence – me somehow ripping my clothes, that is. I wasn't a gentle, demure child by any means – hell, I'd gotten into a fight with that Kaori girl my first day of real school in this life. The fact that my tough, tomboy attitude only further annoyed mother dearest was a big bonus, because it didn't require the slightest bit of effort. My clothes ripping though, was a bit of a shame.

They were nice clothes after all – but flowy skirts were not ideal for a rambunctious child like myself. In fact, I was sure mother would never buy me new clothes if she didn't think letting me run around in my patched up, worn clothes in public would reflect badly upon her.

"Really, Missus Nagi," Tomoko wasn't really put off with me anymore at this point, when I ripped clothes. "The way you go through clothes…."

"Well, Tomoko-san, if mother got me sturdier clothes this wouldn't be a problem, you know?" My legs kicked, my heels thumping rhythmically against the wall of the window seat. "Plus, I know Tomoko-san will be here to fix everything."

She flushed rather prettily at that, cheerily going about her sewing (a button-up shirt of mine that had caught on a rosebush). "I'm very happy that Missus Nagi trusts me. I'm always very happy to help you out."

I hesitated for a moment before ducking my head in my shoulders and peeking up –

"Then… could Tomoko-san help Nagi-chan by getting her some sturdier clothes? Some pants and normal shirts?"

Tomoko paused, momentarily going rigid in surprise. Her own doe-like eyes a bit wary, "I don't know about that…"

"Please? Tomoko-san? Nagi-chan promises not to tell, and to avoid wearing them where mother can see!"

"O-oh… well, I suppose…"

Without really thinking, I jumped forward to wrap my arms around her middle – "Thank you so much!"

.x.X.x.

Meditating was much harder than it sounded – much harder. My mind seemed to run on and on with the power of a freight train, and no matter what I couldn't clear my head like what was needed to really meditate. Ultimately, I pondered whether or not that was because of the sheer imagination Mist users needed to employ, which seemed a plausible thought in and of itself. But something like that couldn't – and wouldn't – stop me from my ultimate goal: working with said mist flames. Later in the evenings was always the best time – since Tomoko often finished up early and dozing off.

It was a cold sort of feeling every time I drew upon the power of my flames – instead if the initial syrupy feel from the beginning, it had become a cold, damp yet strangely soft feeling that really did remind me of mist. And it felt somewhat foreign, though each time I drew upon it, it became less and less so. It was surprising how easy mist flames were, though, despite how trying meditation was. Perhaps it was connected to the whole "I died once" thing, or maybe it was just how mist flames were.

Dangerous.

Mist flames, from what I knew, could be all consuming. Without the proper handle on them one could doubtlessly drown themselves in their own illusions (both literally and figuratively). They required a strong mind, for one, and an adaptable mind. (People had scoffed at Chrome – now I scoff at them.) Meditation helped with the fortifying and clearing of the mind – which I needed at this point.

Leaning back just a bit while in my cross-legged position I sucked in a deep breath and –

"Lookie here!"

My spine snapped straight, my eyes went wide, and a strangled hiss-choke-squeak of surprise eked past my lips. Behind me Garret erupted in uproarious laughter – only possible since mother and Nobuo were in a room upstairs, and unlikely to be woken. Much good that did for my heart, though.

"That makes it what? Oh, yes: Nagi: One; Garret: One." His larger hand plopped down gently to ruffle my hair. "What're you doing out in the backyard so late, kid? You should be upstairs, sleeping."

I stuck my tongue out, swatting away his hand as I pushed to my feet – the grass cool and slick on my soles. "Shouldn't you be asleep?"

"Had to make a late-night pit stop, darling." The door clicked shut behind us, the lock clicking into place after. "Saw a figure through the window. It's dangerous, you know, being out late like that."

"Yeah, yeah."

He snorted before rubbing a hand over his face. "Now get to sleep, would ya? Tomorrow's an important day."

.x.X.x.

There was a woman, young and pretty with deep blue hair and soft blue eyes with a beauty mark in the corner of the left one. She was peering over the bars of a crib, her fingers in the grasp of a toddler's small hands.

Happiness. Love.

Now there was a man – two men – wearing white coats and teal gloves, their faces covered by surgical masks. Below them, a child on a table – cold and hard, like looks in the doctors' eyes.

Pain. Anger. Hate.

.x.X.x.

My breath came in long, deep gasps – strands of my hair plastered to my face and neck thanks to the cold sweat left on my skin. It was an unpleasant sort of feeling, but the moments I glimpsed of Mukuro's time with the Estraneo were worse. And that woman – his mother, undoubtedly – was a different sort of memory; if I had to guess, I'd say she died before all of the experimenting began. In she hadn't, and was letting it go on, I couldn't see Mukuro ever associating her with feelings of happiness.

"But really." I resisted the urge to curl my toes at the feel of the cold floor. "Why do I have to see any of this? Why am I?"

Was it really because the two of us had connected mindscapes? It made me wonder if he was even aware that these memories were slipping through to anyone – I doubted he did. Mukuro wasn't the type to share things like this, not ever. But it really did serve to soften my heart to him, despite what a little ass he was at times.

If he came to me for help in the future (or to 'help me') would I help him? Let him 'help me'? It was a possibility. Mukuro wasn't bad after all – he eventually got over his whole 'destroy the mafia' thing, even if he would never fully admit it (to his dying breath it was always 'Sawada Tsunayoshi is my target and nothing else.' Not like he ever helped him or grew fond of others, oh, no).

"Muku-chi," I muttered as my hands worked a towel to dry my hair. "It seems you might have already wormed your way into my heart."

I paused, just before my hand grasped the doorknob. For a moment I could have sworn I had heard a rustling sound – but that was unlikely; Tomoko would have announced her presence and my parents would never come to my room. With a sigh I moved forward and –

"SURPRISE!"

My heart skipped a beat and I felt my face form that classic surprised look – eyes big and wide, mouth in a dainty little 'o'. Both Garret and Tomoko were smiling, holding out a cake with a candle of the number nine lit in the middle. And, to my horror, I felt my eyes begin to water. I hadn't even remembered that it was my birthday today, and those two weren't even family.

"Why are – why all of this?"

"Well, Wei-san said your parents would be gone today." Tomoko's tone was soft, almost embarrassed. "And every child needs a good birthday cake, yes?"

Garret only laughed before gently ruffling my damp hair. "Don't I do something every year, kid? Last year a platter of cookies, the year before that the cupcake?"

Upon trying to blow out the candle, it kept flickering back to life – a trick of Garret's, no doubt; probably one of those trick candles. As payback for said faulty candle, I found myself smearing a pretty white streak of frosting across the young man's face. For her laughter, Tomoko got much of the same, and for being the original perpetrator I got a whole piece of cake shoved in my face.

"Garret, I have cake in my nose."

His laugh was boisterous, the kind that caused ones face so scrunch up and eyes squeeze shut, leaving a big lopsided grin in its wake. "Yeah, well, my hair isn't naturally white, now is it?"

"Well, not yet."

I squealed, his hand in the process of giving me a noogie. "You little shit."

"Wei-san! You shouldn't curse around the little miss! W-Wei-san!"

No, they weren't family by blood.

But…

They are family.

.

.

.

.

.

They say that blood is thicker than water, but sometimes that isn't very true. Someone with no biological relation can be the person that someone loves the most – someone they can call family. It's the bonds of love that matter, not the blonds of blood.

.x.X.x.