AN: God, it's been a while, eh? This is probably the longest single
chapter I've ever done (yeah, it's not THAT long, but still. I'll do a
little dance, thank you.) This story has become a merge of my two ideas
for a D18 epic and a 8059 epic. Only things to note--yes, there are a
lot of tense switches. This is meant to differentiate between memories
and current thoughts, though flashbacks are in italics. Hope it isn't
too confusing! And excuse my terrible attempt at Italian, Italian
speakers. looks at titleflails
Please review with any comments--I hope you enjoy!
He could have had a nice girl, a nice home, maybe even a shot at baseball for a living. There were so many things that could have gone differently. Thinking back on it now, traces of nostalgia lingering, he could have had the 'perfect' life.
Now Yamamoto lives in the world of blood and death, of Mafioso and Guardians. No more dreams of homeruns and sports glory—he's traded in his bat for a katana, and his innocence for a melancholy reality dashed with a hint of cynicism, a bitter tasting pill. He's scarred now, and not just knitted skin and bones—but somehow he wouldn't take it back for the world. He knows that despite the hard, callused layers that have grown, part of him is still that Namimori boy playing mafia games.
A pretty young waitress brings him his espresso and biscotti, unabashedly flirting with her handsome foreign customer. Yamamoto smiles that winning grin at her, the one that's always gotten him out of trouble before, the one that always convinces Tsuna that everything's okay. She retreats, a blush sweeping across her cheekbones, sure to be in a good mood for the rest of the day, so affected by his infectious grin. He smiles faintly to himself, thinking 'Yup…still got it.'
Italy has, in some strange twist of fate, become his second home. He remembers the first time he came here, to this faraway land that he'd only heard about. Dino was happy to oblige him, show him to all the tourist traps and even to a few hole-in-the-wall places the blonde liked to frequent. Dino even tried to teach him little clips of Italian, smiling warmly, helping Yamamoto feel his way through foreign vowels.
He smiles softly at the memory, taking a sip of his drink. He's much more reliable now—one of the few who is allowed to sit in for Tsuna at overseas meetings, like the one today. His Italian is nowhere near perfect—Gokudera still chastises him for the odd tone of his accent—but the language is becoming second nature.
Gokudera.
He's almost gone all day without thinking about him. A wan smile passes over his features, fingers curling around the small, pristinely white cup before him. He remembers the days when things were simple between them. Well, as simple as anything involving Gokudera can be. Once upon a time, there was a 'something' with them: lusty, bruising kisses, inexperienced hands digging into heated skin, the taste of cigarettes invading his mouth, Gokudera's hips pressing hard against his own. A release. Or at least that's what Gokudera called it.
"You want it, I want it, and that's all it is. Don't try and over think it, baseball idiot. You'll break your brain. Just a release."
So Yamamoto had tried to keep it simple. He'd tried to follow Gokudera's rules—no touchy feely, no cuddling, no post-coital kissing, no pillow talk. It was nothing serious, but at the same time, he knew he wasn't really satisfied with whatever it was, with this shadow of a relationship, whatever this non-committal fling they had could be described as. Gokudera never gave him any indication he was unsatisfied—and even if Yamamoto had said anything, he was sure to just get an earful of disparaging comments and mocking.
He never expected Gokudera to get so angry with him when he accepted a date with a cute girl from their class. Though it being Gokudera, he didn't scream at him for dating her. He yelled and fought him for every mundane thing he could think of, but never told Yamamoto why he was really angry. It had taken him so long to realize it as a shadow of jealousy…that one of the few things Gokudera had ever, in some disparaging way, call his, had been taken—it was too late by the time he'd figured it out. By then he had been dating another girl for a while, and his heart was beginning to be hers instead. Ayako had begun hinting about how much she wanted to spend her life with him, making veiled mentions about being a June bride when Yamamoto took her to the occasional Vongola celebration, looking wistfully at married women's fingers. He was pulled along in her strong tide, swept away by her soft laughter, her infectious enthusiasm.
She was something to protect. It wasn't like being a Guardian, like his desire to protect Tsuna and his pledge to the Vongola. He felt the soft stirrings of love, of always wanting her around, wanting to hold her in his arms and keep her safe from the dangers of the world. There was something about a woman's love that he couldn't put his finger on. It had been so different than what he had felt for Gokudera only a few years before. Then again, everything involving Gokudera Hayato was different than what he's ever known before. Gokudera was like gravity, pulling him in, even when unwarranted. The pull had lessened while he was with Ayako, and a piece of him felt filled by her love. At the same time, something was different, still missing.
The pretty waitress has brought him another espresso, and a part of Yamamoto feels guilty for not being aware enough to say thank you. Dredging up memories tends to take so much of his brain—he probably wouldn't even notice an assassin coming right at him. His fingers move for his suit pocket, pulling out a small pack of cigarettes, heralded by Gokudera as the greatest in the world. Yamamoto doesn't call himself a smoker, but something about him is comforted by the curl of smoke rising from the burning paper and tobacco, by the heavy scent in the air and the feeling of the filter between long fingers. It settles a part of him, a part that longs for something he can't quite put his finger on.
It's funny, how time has changed his world. He still laughs like used to, but so often the sound seems weighted. He's seen death now, malleable and real, the bitter tang of freshly spent blood forced to become palatable, the sign of a job completed. His own hands have brought the end for more than he'd like to account to. But in the end, everything is for Tsuna, for the Vongola.
His devotion to the 10th Vongola Don is full, complete, but in some way, it has never compared to that of Gokudera. As a part of him drifted toward Ayako, he had a glimpse of their world from the outside. She always commented on how nice it was, the way Gokudera seemed to live for the good of Tsuna—not that she would ever know the violence such a devotion entails. Yamamoto remembers when he and Ayako first got serious, when he first had to explain what he did for a living—or at least a plausible stretch of the truth. He never wanted to tell her that he killed, that his hands carried such sin. As Yamamoto began to devote his heart to Ayako, Gokudera threw himself entirely into Tsuna. It was clear to everyone, from the lowest subordinate to the Guardians, that Gokudera was more than just enamored with Tsuna. He seemed almost to throw himself into his position, as if he was suddenly running from some unseen demons—as if only Tsuna could save him, make everything right again. The only one who couldn't see it for what it was, ironically, was Tsuna himself.
For a moment, he had felt a spark of jealousy, remembering when those green eyes had been fixed on his, when they had once followed him across a room. But then he remembered Ayako, his Ayako, and the worth of their relationship, her undying love for him. And somehow, that placated things. It kept away the bittersweet memories, pushed back the past with her sweet smiles and soft mouth.
After two years, Ayako's veiled mentions were clear enough for even him to recognize, and even his father was asking when Yamamoto was going to gather up the gusto to ask her to marry him. He wasn't sure if it was the pressure or his true desire that lead him to a little jeweler, searching amongst rows of sparkling gems, but he left the shop with at least his month's salary spent and a soft velvet box in his pocket. It took him days to even figure out a place and time that was appropriate for such a monumental moment. He'd bothered Tsuna more than once for advice for when to pop the question, trusting his close friend to think of something he hadn't already. Even when his setting was decided, it seemed as if he was holding his breath every time they were together, anticipation heavy in his chest. It was as if he needed permission to go through with the act. Yamamoto smiles bitterly as he remembers the conversation the afternoon before he proposed to Ayako.
"Gokudera…" He speaks to the silence, leaning back onto a couch in the Vongola headquarters. Gokudera spares a brief glance and a cocked eyebrow before going back to the mundane task of dynamite inventory. Yamamoto takes this as a point to continue, fingers fishing around in his pocket. "I'm…" He pauses, pulling out the small box, letting it play between his fingers.
"Spit it out, Yamamoto, or go back to work or something. I don't really want to hear you ramble today." Gokudera's subordinates have been especially clingy lately, as he has lost one of his most loyal members in a mission only days before. The stress of dancing around them is beginning to show. Yamamoto flips open the box, diamond catching the light and Gokudera's eye.
"M'gonna ask her to marry me." Yamamoto cracks a slight smile, hesitant. Gokudera seems to stare at the ring for an eternity, before his eyes flick back to his task. He makes a slight noise in his throat, seemingly clearing it. Green eyes meet brown, and Yamamoto watches a slight smile cross over Gokudera's face.
"Nn…congratulations then. Maybe she'll be silly enough to say yes." Yamamoto blinks slightly, hearing the hint of forced happiness in Gokudera's tone, the faint strain of his smile. He lets out a soft chuckle, looking down at the dainty ring, but the it fades as he meets Gokudera's eyes—an expression there he wasn't supposed to see, that was supposed to merely last an instant. Gokudera's eyes are firm, a hint of betrayal in their depths.
The look passes as quickly as it was discovered, but the air is heavy with silence, and even as Gokudera looks back down, Yamamoto can see the hard-set line of his shoulders, the quick, twitch of his hands before he moves back to work.
They sit in awkward silence for minutes that seem like hours, Gokudera quickly separating himself from the past few minutes, and Yamamoto trying to decipher Gokudera's expression. Perhaps he's afraid Yamamoto will be distracted? That he'll be a hindrance to Tsuna in happy matrimony? That once and for all, Ayako will learn the truth about them—the Vongola and its Guardians? Gokudera is the one to break the tension.
"Go ask her, baseball idiot." His eyes don't leave the table, mouth resorting to old nicknames that have long since lost much of their venom. "Wait much longer and she'll find another guy who'll get the job done."
And of course, Ayako had accepted in a picturesque way, tears streaming down her joy filled face, followed quickly by a jump into Yamamoto's arms. For a short time, they were the golden couple. Ayako spent her days blissfully planning the happiest day of her life, and Yamamoto continued his guardianship, an easy smile never far from his face. Their moment of peace was shattered in one instant, in one phone call from Tsuna.
Gokudera had been hurt.
His heart had stopped at least once on the way to the hospital, and though he was somewhat stable, the doctors couldn't promise that he'd recover. Yamamoto rushed from a homemade dinner without a word, brows creased in fear, anger, in ceaseless worry, not hearing Ayako's cries for explanation. He all but flew to the hospital, following the trail of men in dark suits to Gokudera's room.
The sound of monitors beeping, the tubes leading into a frighteningly frail looking body had stopped him in his tracks, leaning against the doorframe. Something inside him snapped, broke like a dry branch, fell like a dead weight. Yamamoto's eyes met Tsuna's, both holding a silent apology for letting this happen, regardless of the fact that neither was to blame. He walked towards the hospital bed like a ghost, coming to stand at Tsuna's left side. Despite the fear in his heart, he had to stand strong next to Tsuna. Anything less, and Gokudera would find a way to haunt him forever. They watched him, day in and day out, stuck in the depths of his mind, left in the limbo of a coma. The gashes on his chest healed, punctures were closed, bones knitted—yet he still didn't wake. He had, at some point in that first never-ending day, managed to answer Ayako's frantic message, explaining in short phrases that Gokudera had been hurt, and that he was at the hospital.
Yamamoto came home only occasionally in those grueling months, giving short embraces and soft kisses to his fiancé, trying to find the words to calm her anxiety. He couldn't comfort her like he used to. In the beginning, she seemed to accept his absence, resigned to stand by him, even in their distance. Only a few months before their nuptials, Yamamoto hadn't seen her in three weeks, and their last meeting had only been a night to sleep in a real bed. Ayako wasn't stupid—she saw the bandages wrapping Yamamoto's body, the skin healing only to be broken again.
When Yamamoto wasn't taking his shifts at the hospital, he was personally finding every person involved in the attack. When his skill wasn't sufficient, he recruited Hibari to help, knowing that no one could stand in the presence of the Cloud Guardian's skill combined with Yamamoto's search for revenge. They only ceased their searching when they were sure the job was done, the body of a misguided Don at their feet, blood creeping towards polished black shoes, hands stained red, faces solemnly set. It didn't make Gokudera wake up, but it was the least he could do. The only thing he knew how to do.
Leaving Hibari, Yamamoto's mind was left in disarray. He was absent, so much so that he went home without changing, walking in covered in the blood of dead men. Ayako had waited up for him, as she did most recent nights in vain, her tired eyes meeting his tattered form. She had bolted upright, coming to his side with wild eyes, frantically searching him for the gaping wound she was sure she would find. He brushed off the search, murmuring reassurances as he shuffled to the shower. She only left him alone as the bathroom door locked, and the moment he returned to the sitting room she was ready and questioning.
"Takeshi…Takeshi, please tell me what happened? Tell me what's wrong?" Ayako's voice wavers, her strength gone after months of distant moments and weeks without her fiancé. Yamamoto's tired eyes turn to her, trying to be gentle, trying oh so hard to be patient, but the adrenaline is still faint in his veins, the sight of blood still present when he closes his eyes.
"A job." It's all he can manage to tell her, all he can say without tainting her, staining such an innocent girl with such carnage. "For Gokudera." He adds, voice clearly showing his intent to share no further details, the severity of his silence.
"Gokudera…" she murmurs, eyes meeting the floor, face setting. "Hn. Of course." The bitter tone does not fit her.
By then she must have known what he did for a living, or at least have an idea, because she never questioned the blood itself, only questioned the presence of wounds on his own body. Before she was full of concern, but in the days that passed, she was distant, cold—but somehow, he hardly noticed. He came home more often, trying to appease her. It seemed to only antagonize the brewing storm cloud over a once happy home, over a engagement that was oh so very close to its nuptials.
It all fell apart the day Gokudera woke.
Tsuna called him, sounding happier than he had in months that felt like years. Gokudera had awoken and, true to form, had immediately apologized for being careless, failing Tsuna, and causing him to worry, voice slurred from the pain meds. Yamamoto's laugh seemed to echo through the room at this, a sound that he himself hadn't heard in days, maybe even weeks. Ayako appeared as he hung up, standing to find his jacket.
"What was that?" She has the faintest hint of a smile, their strain momentarily halted by the sound of his laughter. Yamamoto's smile is relieved, coat slipping onto his shoulders.
"Gokudera. He's awake." His mind isn't really processing more than that—his eyes don't see her expression falter, her pretty mouth turn into a faint frown.
"Oh. That's good." She sounds as if she's trying to be happy for him, but such a thing is too much to ask for. Yamamoto falters, turning towards her.
"Good? It's incredible, Ayako. Months now, and they were starting to ask if we wanted to take him off life support. They wanted us to let him go, and he kept fighting." A wistful smile appears on his face. "Just like him." He chuckles softly, fingers fastening buttons.
"Would you do the same for me, Takeshi?" Her voice is soft, so very soft, but there is a warning of venom behind the words. His eyes meet hers, widened, questioning. "Would you wait by my bedside day and night? Would you forget everything else in life, and take care of me? Be the ghost you've become these past few months? Would you…would you come home covered in blood for me?" His mind reels, mouth opening to speak words he cannot find.
"I…Ayako, he…" The one moment he needs to speak, and it's near impossible. Her anger has built for months, fueled by a jealousy unseen by Yamamoto.
"I'm yourfiancé, Yamamoto Takeshi! Why can't you love me like you love him? Why do I have to play second to someone I can never overtake?!" Tears begin to roll down her cheeks. Yamamoto moves toward her, hand gently cupping her cheek. The confusion is evident in his eyes, his thumb wiping away a stray tear. For a moment, Ayako seems placated, but it doesn't last. She's had time to think about this. Her fingers move, pulling the dainty ring from her slim finger, pressing it into Yamamoto's hand.
"Ayako…?" He begins, looking at the ring like it might bite him, and then at her face, eyes pained.
"I'm sorry. I can't. I've made my decision. I've had months to, after all. I can't do this. I can't play second fiddle to him. You were so wrapped up…so concerned, you forgot about me. About us." Her fingers find his face, cupping his cheek gently. "I love you, Takeshi. And if I had the power, I'd make you love me more than you love Gokudera. But that's not something I can do." Yamamoto opens his mouth, the ring falling to the floor at their feet. She places a finger over his lips, shaking her head. "Just…go." The words sound so painful, so distant. She's so strong, so strong as she holds her head high and lets him go.
It's nearing on two years since she left him, but he still remembers the moment like it had been minutes ago. He remembers it more clearly than when he saw Gokudera, bedridden, drugged and chiding him for letting the Tenth worry about him. He had been left in limbo for a long time, throwing himself into work. Yamamoto's lucky to still have a civil relationship with Ayako—not close like they had been, but a dinner a few months after their split seemed to calm both of their nerves and gave them both their permission to move on. She was married now to a devoted man with a good job and had a baby on the way. When she sent the announcement cards, she had written, in her feminine script, that he should go after what he wants, because she wanted Yamamoto to be just as happy as she was.
Two years now, and he's been left in a place he can't name. The Vongola still have their footholds, and the Guardians are as busy as ever, but he knows he's still searching for something that's missing. The hole that Ayako had begun to fill is left gaping. He's happy, he really is, but he still feels like he's left something behind. He's only realized recently that it's the gravity of the old days, pulling him back in. The gravity of Gokudera Hayato has its hold on him, keeping him static. He makes no move, even though he longs to, because it's been obvious for years now that Gokudera has stopped looking at him the way he used to. He wants Tsuna, and life to Gokudera will always be Tsuna.
Or at least that's the resolve he repeats to himself.
His resolution is beginning to crack, his respect for the wishes of his friends fading only slightly in favor of what he wants and needs. The selfless Yamamoto Takeshi does, in fact, have the capability to be selfish. Somewhere, buried deep inside, he's still hopeful. It's because in his mind, he can still remember what Gokudera tastes like, can still remember the way he arched against him. Somehow, he still wants him, still hopes that one day he'll have him. God knows how, after all of these years.
The ash on the cigarette has built up, dropping of it's own accord onto the table. It starts him slightly. Yamamoto taps it on the ashtray futility, taking a slight drag, playing with it just to keep his hands busy. He takes a sip of his espresso—it's cold now anyway, but it's all about keeping up appearances, right, Takeshi?
Yamamoto wonders if perhaps, maybe with a touch, it might change. Gokudera might look at him again the way he used to, realize that his celibacy after Ayako wasn't a way of repenting. It was waiting, waiting for something he didn't know how to get. He sighs, wishing he had someone to bounce ideas off of, someone to listen, who might understand this plight of his. Normally he would talk to Tsuna…but no. No, this involved Tsuna too closely, it hit too close to home. There was no one else he knew that he trusted to speak of about this—no matter how hard he racked his brain.
His eyes catch a flash of blonde hair in his periphery—normally something he would ignore, but something in him makes him turn, looking across the street. He finds a familiar face, shadowed by a recognizable presence: Dino Cavallone.
Dino doesn't hear him the first few times he calls, but as Yamamoto rises from his seat, amber eyes find his tall, dark-suited form. There is a soft smile of recognition on Dino's face, and a familiarity when he approaches Yamamoto.
"Ah, Yamamoto…in beautiful Italy again, are we?" Dino's smiling like he always does, but somehow it's not the same. His charming, cheery demeanor seems to fall flat.
"Mm, a meeting for Tsuna." Yamamoto smiles, eyes flicking over Dino's face. Perhaps…perhaps Dino…
"Working hard for my little bro, eh?" Dino laughs, the sound a little heavy, weighted. Yamamoto's lips form a half smile. He knows the weight of that laugh—the weight his own seems to carry these days. Perhaps Dino is the one to ask. Dino's been around forever, after all: at nearly every Vongola function, birthday, even at odd times just to pop around to say hello—though Yamamoto is sure he was just checking up on Tsuna whilst trying to track down Hibari. Dino has dealt with a troublesome, hard-to-understand, distant lover. Perhaps he has some hints, some practical advice. Besides, the odd sadness in Dino's eyes intrigues him.
"Have you had dinner yet?" Yamamoto asks, tilting his head slightly. Dino pauses, floundering over words. His eyes search Yamamoto's, his expression seeming as if he'd like to, but doesn't know if he deserves the kindness. It's as if Yamamoto should know something that would make him nowhere near this civil to Dino. Yamamoto pulls out his winning smile. "I insist, I insist. Plus, you always know the best things to order." Dino's mouth forms a mirroring smile, a glimpse of warmth coming to his expression.
"Alright, alright. I'll indulge you." He gives a small grin. "But only because you're better company than Bono and Romario." He winks at his subordinates, laughing softly at their halfhearted grumbling. Dino instructs them to have the night off, and that he'll call them at any sign of trouble.
As the blonde haired man joins him at his table, Yamamoto has a sweeping feeling of relief—because somehow Dino looks like he's looking for advice as well. The pretty waitress is all but blinded by their charming smiles as she brings them dinner menus. Dino orders without looking—Yamamoto had forgotten this is one of his haunts—and Yamamoto orders the same without thinking twice. As they sit back, the last vestiges of sun peaking through the horizon, they both have the same thought:
Perhaps, just maybe, things will work out after all.
TBC