First present

"You wanted to see me, Primo?" He still had stacks of papers to look through but he'd be damned if he overlooked his friend's call for them. The warm eyes that moved up to meet his, only making him even more certain in his decision.

"Indeed," a soft smile played with his lips as he stood from his place behind the desk. "I wanted to give you something, G."

And he raised a brow and waited, only half nervous because he would never forget the pain he had endured the last time someone had given him something, and neither could he ever get rid of the motives etched into his face no matter how many years passed.

Yet despite of the smallest bit of uneasiness, he found himself trusting his companion and waiting patiently as he took a long box and presented it.

"To be continuously at the heart of the attack, the furious Storm that never rests," Giotto spoke as he flipped the locks of the heavy wooden box. "That is your position as my Guardian of Storm." The orange eyes moved up to his and he met them evenly, relishing in that familiar sensation that made him think he was staring into the endless sky. "Yet I am aware how much you dislike the smell of gunpowder, my friend."

And so the lid was pulled and red eyes traveled down, studying and committing to memory every detail of the expertly crafted weapon that was presented to him and he couldn't help the thrill that ran through him at the thought of heading in battle holding it.

"So, please, accept this gift from me."

First attempt

The bastards deserved to die a slow, painful death, G thought and regretted not being able to give them one. Yet he never considered leaving his position even for a moment, not with Giotto pushed underneath him as safe as he could be in the rain of bullets that was falling heavily around them. With all of the commotion, the Primo could have ended up shot down by the crossfire instead of the short that had been meant for him.

And, damn it all, G had nearly missed it this time and he was going to beat himself over it for a long while after it was all over. Using illusions was cowardly, but certainly effective and it had almost been too effective. Almost, because if Giotto's intuition had sparked just a second later, if G hadn't been looking at his face when his eyes widened, if he hadn't been standing right next to him and alert and ready, it would have been late.

And so he threw himself over his best friend he felt the bullet whistle next to his ear and his heart stopped with the 'what if' for that one second before all hell broke loose. And even now that he could easily tell the telltale sound of a sword being drown and the shooters falling one after the other, he didn't move.

"G," He lifted himself ever so slightly to be able to gaze at the man he was shielding and grant him at least half his attention – because he had to be ready to roll them away if the bullets finally broke through their cover. "May I be allowed to move now?"

"Not until they're buried."

First shelter

He was groggy and tired and covered in blood, albeit none of it his own, and he reeked of sweat and death and smoke even though he had finished his last cigar in the middle of the mission and his every nerve was twitching for the feel on nicotine filling his lungs. Yet he pushed forward a little bit more, made the conscious effort to take those extra ten steps to Giotto's office.

And he pushed the door opened and felt the warmth of the fireplace welcome him as he kicked it shut behind him and offhandedly threw himself in the fluffy couch. And, for once, it would be a lie to say that Ugetsu's music was annoying because even if he would never admit it, it felt familiar and refreshing.

And he closed his eyes and released a deep breath and let the exhaustion of his week-long assignment be washed away and the memory of cold dead bodies lying every which way leave his mind and like rainwater running down the gutter.

So when the pillows shifted a little while later he finally found the strength to lift his heavy lids and look at the soft smile that resembled home and take the offered smoke with gratitude.

"Welcome back," Giotto smiled down on him as he lit and inhaled and finally there was nothing to complain about.

And he offered his friend a rare, honest smile and turned his head to blow the smoke away from him before closing his eyes in bliss. Because it didn't matter how long and annoying and excruciatingly exhausting the missions were, once he was back to this little piece of warm, calm, relaxing heaven, it was all fine.

First nightmare

It wasn't that all of his dreams were fairytalish and colorful and covered with sugary icing. It wasn't as if he even remembered most of what he dreamt about because he had many more things to worry about with Giotto and the Vongola and real life. And it wasn't like those same dreams weren't dyed red every so often and so gruesome that most people wouldn't be able to keep their dinner down, but for G that was the real life he was used to and they didn't matter.

What did matter thought was that night when he snapped his eyes opened in shock and terror and horror and he was out of his bed in an instant and running and crashing into cupboards and titling paintings all along his way to the room down the hall and tearing the door down to finally find his breathing again when he saw Giotto startling at the sound and sitting up in bed and staring at him in wonder and so alive it was hard to believe.

Because this living, moving, breathing Giotto was so different from the cold and pale and sososo dead Giotto he had just seen and he could feel his heart drumming in his throat and he could hardly breathe around it and he clenched the frame of the door to keep himself standing and tried to convince himself that the corpse lying in the hands of the friend turned foe wasn't real, that this was real and that he wasn't late and that damn bastard hadn't-

"G…"

And that voice snapped him out of his own personal hell and he looked up to the eyes alight with life and tried to erase the empty voids he had seen in the nightmare and suddenly he was sliding down until he sat leaning against the doorframe and holding his head with both hands.

"It's alright," he breathed and tried to stop his voice from breaking and realized he was feeling sick to his stomach and cursed the fact that a stupid nightmare could reduce him to this. "It was just a dream."

"If you would like to speak about it?" The simple invitation was spoken with a warm smile and he couldn't help the wave of relief seeing it brought.

"No need," he took a deep breath and found it actually reached his lungs this time and managed to get himself back to his feet, shaking as they were. "I'm sorry for intruding, Giotto. Goodnight."

He eyed the soft nod he was presented with and let his gaze linger just a moment more before stepping back and closing the door softly. And even as he assured himself that his friend was alive, G spent that and many other sleepless nights sitting in front of his door, smoking.

First fight

"I insist you rethink this!" His voice was loud, louder than it had ever been before, almost to the level of screaming but not just quite there yet. His red eyes were burning, hands slammed on the desk as he was met with an even yet somehow detached look from those always warm orange eyes.

"There is nothing to rethink. The decision has been made," and it was said with certainty and left no place for argument, but argue G would, until the end of the world if he had to.

He had bowed his head four times in defeat, accepting one lunatic after the other with the exceptional speed at which Giotto managed to throw them at him. And, yes, he would admit that Ugetsu wasn't half as tone deaf as he accused him of being, that Knuckle's enthusiasm sometimes had even his blood boiling with thrill, that Lampo served for a good punching bag given the chance and that even Alaude's skill was an asset to the Famiglia as much as he hated it, but this, this had to be wrong.

"I won't accept this!" G outright yelled and he saw something close to anger flash in the never faltering gaze and Primo's lips were pushed in a thin line.

"Why do you not trust my judgment?" It was meant as a blow he knew, and he raged to know that his friend would bring this up but the storm that pushed him forward wasn't anywhere close to dying right now.

"I trust you perfectly well, I don't trust that-"

"Daemon will become the Guardian of Mist, and as such I would appreciate it if you would act accord-"

"Fuck Spade and fuck his position," and he was screaming at the top of his lungs and he even noticed Ugetsu's astounded expression and that must mean that he actually just interrupted Primo and that he was actually currently throwing curses towards what was to become the newest part of their Family. "If you think that I will stand that goddamn good for no-"

He was interrupted by Giotto's sudden rising as he stood and somehow, shorter as he was, he still managed to stare him down. Primo rested his hands firmly of top of his desk in a much calmer manner than his own and his voice held authority as he spoke.

"That is my decision as Vongola Primo and it is final."

And G raged and he was this close to punching him straight in that unmarked face and shaking him by the collar and screaming at him to get a grip and face reality and don't you see I'm doing this for your sake but he took deep breaths and he forced himself to turn on his heels and speed towards the door before he lost it and actually did it.

"G!"

"He's going to ruin you!" His voice was as sharp as his arrows and the burning in his eyes as unforgiving as his Storm Flame as he glanced over one shoulder and glare at his friend. "And you better pray to God I'm wrong this time, Giotto."

And with those final words he left the room, shutting the door with such strength that he saw cracks running up the wall.

First apology

He stood there, facing the door and uncertain of what he should do. Giotto suppressed a sigh as he ran a hand through his hair and clenched his eyes fighting the upcoming migraine. He couldn't leave things like that, not after the first fight they had ever had was as serious as that. G had never before opposed him in a similar matter, there had to be a reason for the man to do it now, certainly.

Or, at least, one of them had to man up and admit he was wrong. And as the Primo, it was his duty to keep the Family together. So he reasoned and as he gave his right hand man a few hours to blow off steam, he followed the destruction to G's bedroom and found himself nervous and uncertain.

"You're annoying," the voice came muffled by the door. "Either get in of go away."

With an unsuppressed sigh –of course he knew he was there, he wasn't his Guardian for nothing- Giotto pushed the handle and stepped trying not to scowl at the smoke-filled room. G was leaning against the closed window facing the outside and smoking like it was the only thing he could do.

"Listen, G," he began carefully looking for the right words.

"Do whatever you want." Orange eyes blinked in alarm at being interrupted again.

"Pardon?"

"If you want him that much, you can have him," the burnt smoke was smashed mercilessly and his friend turned to him with a displeased look on his face. "But don't expect me to trust him. I'm not leaving that bastard alone with you in the same room," he continued with narrowed red eyes and crossed arms. "And when he turns to stab you in the back, there will be an 'I told you so'."

Surprised Giotto studied the other's face for a moment longer, before a warm smile spread over his face.

"Thank you, G."

His friend released a 'che' as he scratched his head in annoyance and sighed before giving up and dropping the angry scowl, replacing it with a worried look.

"Just don't try that authority shit on me anymore. I don't want to feel like strangling you any time soon." And in the softening look on his face, Primo saw the regret and apology that would never quite be voiced, yet was passed on just as well.

"My apologies. I went too far."

"Don't sweat it," and the smirk was back and everything was like it was supposed to be. "So how are you going to keep the ass from slitting your throat?"

First storm

Thunder crashed outside but the eye of the storm was locked between two doors, four walls, one ceiling and numerous corpses. His flames burned brighter than ever with the thought of Giotto suffering from poison-induced fever and those now-corpses smirking and laughing and gloating.

And his bullets flew with the speed of light and necks were snapped and blood bled and it was all red before his eyes and he didn't know where the damn power came from but it was good and it was enough and it was what he wanted.

And as the other guardians struggled to find a cure, a way to save their Primo, he raged alone and determined and a hurricane would have been more generous than the destruction he left behind.

And Giotto would ask later and he would look away knowing how much his friend hated destruction and death, but that was something irrelevant at the moment.

All that mattered was the unforgiving storm that raged within his heart.