This is the last chapter I've got written up; the rest of the story will be added once it's properly finished. Enjoy!


Pick up the pieces (and rebuild)

Florrie went horse riding on half her Saturday mornings and this was one of them, so it was in fact possible to arrive and unload all their bags without tipping her off as to their arrival. So long as everything got left in upstairs rooms and they stayed out of her flat; Xanxus found that harder than it should have been, because dumping his case on her bedroom floor was a well-established habit by this point. Thankfully Squalo had said something about 'hiding everything upstairs,' but the amused side-eye he'd got indicated his Rain knew very well that without a reminder he'd probably have done something embarrassing, like walk in her front door as usual.

His other Guardians passed it off as Squalo being his usual loud and somewhat controlling self, or at least pretended to well enough that Xanxus didn't feel the urge to hit any of them for making fun of him. He'd thought only Lussuria and the shark would be joining him for this, but Mammon had decided they wanted to give birthday presents in person this year and Bel had wanted to spend time with Mammon so he was here too. They were not however coming to the party; Bel didn't want to attend a 'peasant event' and Mammon disliked being around strangers who treated them like a child, so they were lying low until Florrie left for her surprise party, then moving to the downstairs common room to do whatever. Mammon would want to stay in and do free things, but Bel might decide to take the Mist out to a coffee shop and buy cake.

It was raining, so sitting in the garden was sadly not an option. It looked very good though; the plants had all settled in and there was a definite and very pleasing structure to it, despite it still being a bit bare here and there and the fruit trees still being saplings.

Xanxus left most of the presents they'd brought behind at the house –a surprising number of Varia had shoved gifts for Florrie at Squalo and Luss– since he was planning on giving her those tomorrow, in a more private setting. The party was about food and socialising, not about giving a bunch of civvies the opportunity to gawk at what the Varia considered appropriate to give their Boss's Cloud.

He did take the wine though; he'd brought fizzy dessert wine, which Florrie actually liked, and Marsala, which she also liked despite having to be careful not to drink much at a time. His Cloud was a very giggly lightweight; also a very cuddly lightweight. He'd even brought Campari and a sweet vermouth for aperitifs, and gone digging for Florrie's parents' home phone number –which had taken a good long while because they were ex-directory; he definitely approved– to make sure Chickie bought soda water.

His Cloud wasn't a big fan of mixed drinks, but she did drink them sometimes and other people would probably want something a bit less sweet to go with their food.

He was also rather curious about the other people he was going to be meeting; he'd only met Florrie's university friends and acquaintances so far rather than any of her more established connections. They were probably also going to be curious about him, which was why he'd settled on a story –a truthful if not entirely complete one even– to establish his civilian identity with. Xanto Cosimo Cavallone would soon be a real person, rather than just a paper construct; it was a bit strange, being a real person with a real identity outside the Underworld. He had a birth certificate, legal parents, exam records and everything; he even had funny family stories of silly things various cousins had said and done.

Was this how normal people felt? Grounded, but also slightly apprehensive that all that baggage would come back to bite them at some point? It was almost uncomfortable how memorable he was now; not just physically but as a person with connections and history. He had relatives who were in phonebooks and ran businesses, who could be found and who would talk about him if asked. To civilians even! It was intensely strange.

In a good way though; having a proper civilian identity would protect Florrie, as there would be fewer suspicious absences in his personal history for people to notice. It would also disassociate his civvie identity from his Underworld persona, because absolutely nobody was going to look for the Head of the Varia at a student birthday party and anyone who thought themselves knowledgeable would disbelieve the concept on principle, even if provided with moderately recognisable photographs.

Nodding at the shark so he picked up the bottle crate and checking that Luss had grabbed the token gifts that would be suitable to open publically, Xanxus headed back out to their hired car, idly tossing the keys in the air. He was actually looking forward to this.


The party finally wrapped up around six, when people realised they wanted to have a proper dinner rather than more scones and cake and started leaving. Specifically the married couple left; everybody else stuck around to divvy up the remains of the food.

Over the past few hours Xanxus had made friendly conversation with everybody, learned all their names, had acquired a range of funny stories involving Florrie at various ages and had been complemented on the alcohol selection at least twenty times. It was the best party he'd been to in years and that was kind of ridiculous in a sad way. A tiny student party organised by a seventeen-year-old for her antisocial Cloud of a big sister turning twenty-one was the best event he'd been to since coming out of the ice.

On a brighter note, Bambi was hilarious and her utterly unflappable nurse girlfriend was a delight. Xanxus would put money on them being in a civil partnership within the year, but only if Marzieh proposed first; Bambi while utterly delightful and a hysterical conversationalist was amusingly oblivious to her girlfriend being completely serious about her. Possibly because she was so hopelessly smitten her brain melted into incoherence every time Marzieh smiled in her general direction. He'd even managed to have a fun conversation about food in Farsi with the Iranian nurse, which had been amusing.

They were a very cute couple and he was positive Luss had their phone numbers.

Surprising Florrie had been great fun; she'd actually squealed when she saw the room was full of friends –some of whom she apparently hadn't seen in years– and while she'd thrown herself at Deborah and Silvia first, hugging both fiercely and babbling happily in between kisses, she'd thrown himself and him –and shark and Luss– right afterwards.

He'd already introduced himself to everybody who hadn't met him yet –establishing his identity– and once again, it had turned out Florrie had been talking about him to her other friends. Nice things, if occasionally slightly embarrassing things; he'd not known that the reason Florrie was so much calmer riding the motorbike with him now was that she kept her eyes shut half the time. He didn't drive that recklessly, did he?

Shark had laughed in his face when Becca had shared that titbit; Xanxus had got back at him for it later.

On another amusing note, 'how we met' stories involving Florrie came in exactly two flavours. There was 'I saw her and she looked interesting' or 'I wanted to get to know her better for X reason' and then there were the occasions where Florrie had introduced herself, which were invariably improbable and intensely Cloudy. Jen, who'd been –literally– picked up in a bar and carried back to Florrie's flat because his friend had noticed a total stranger being drugged, scared off the perpetrators and taken the woman home with her. Sally, who shared a house with some other friends a few blocks away and had been randomly offered cake on her way back there one afternoon because Florrie had been on a baking frenzy and made far more than she could ever eat, so had resorted to accosting people in the street to get rid of some of it. Silvia, who hadn't wanted to have her photo taken on a high school trip but had been confronted by a very calm and earnest classmate she'd never actually had a conversation with before informing her that everybody would be photographed, so she could either accept her fate and pose, or else put up with being surreptitiously stalked all week.

Silvia had caved instantly, recognising the gleam in Florrie's eye for what it was, then spent the rest of the week enjoying watching as her less perspicacious camera-shy classmates were repeatedly ambushed.

Getting context for some of the photos on his Cloud's wall was half the fun of meeting Florrie's other friends; having to reciprocate with semi-censored stories about the photos of him was also surprisingly painless. Getting to tease the shark about the picture Florrie had on her wall of him wearing a hand-towel –taken in a hotel when the Rain Officer's fellow assassins had used up all the towels and not sorted out more– had also been a highlight; making Squalo squawk was always fun and he'd deserved it for laughing over the motorbike thing.

The food had been good, Florrie had liked all her presents and the venue was small but well laid-out; he'd had a good afternoon.

Xanxus had just noticed that Luss had taken over command of parcelling out the remaining food when Florrie wandered over to lean into him.

"Tired?" He asked.

"Feeling peopled out," his Cloud admitted, fingers playing with her new bracelet as she stared sightlessly at the floor.

"Let's get you home then," Xanxus decided. "Shark can grab your presents."

There was a put-upon huff from his other side, but Squalo did head across the room to grab the gift bags.

"Luss won't take many moments on the food," Xanxus continued quietly, "and then we can bail. Chickie set this up, she can wrap up." More to the point, he knew that as soon as most of the guests had left the seventeen-year-old would be calling her parents to help with the tidying up. Bambi would also be helping; the only reason Becca hadn't stayed to help too was that she was pregnant and had been excused.

"Sure?"

"She's organised, she'll have a plan."

"Kay," Florrie murmured, leaning her face into his shirt and closing her eyes. Xanxus tugged lightly on her braid then wrapped an arm snugly around her waist; it was really nice to be trusted like this.


"Mammon and Bel are here too," Xanxus remembered to mention as Squalo drove them back to the safehouse. "Wanted to see you on your birthday, since the rest of us were coming along."

Florrie side-eyed him with impressively layered intent.

"No, we are in no way expecting you to do anything tonight," he added quickly; "I thought I could cook you breakfast tomorrow and then you could open all your Varia gifts. Or we can wait until you're back from church, if that's what you'd rather."

His Cloud made a pensive noise in her throat, then subsided into thoughtful silence. Xanxus waited patiently for her to make a decision.

"Presents at breakfast," she decided eventually. "It's an easy lunch: made Irish stew this morning, just needs to go in the oven before church."

"Leave me the timing and I'll sort it," Xanxus promised; it would be stupidly easy since all he had to do was take the stew out of the fridge, turn the oven to the appropriate temperature, put the pan in and wait.

Florrie hummed again, snuggling into his side. "Thanks for coming," she said quietly. "Know you're all busy right now."

"It's our pleasure, honey," Luss said warmly from the front seat, half-turning to smile at his fellow Guardian. "I know I've missed seeing you and it's no trouble really; everything's more or less organised now, so it's just a matter of making sure everything happens to schedule. Well, basically; there's plenty of wiggle room built in." Timeliness was not a particularly Italian virtue, for all it was definitely a Varia one.

"That reminds me," Florrie said quietly, "I can't have anybody over for Christmas this year; my grandma's cancer's come back and it metastasised, so we're visiting her. Doctors don't think she's going to see far past mid-January, if that." She paused. "New Year's fine though."

Xanxus gently squeezed his Cloud around the middle, reaching up with his other hand to brush loose wisps of hair out of her face. "Sorry to hear that. Will definitely visit; could stay longer, since there won't be any work for a while." Well there might be some, but most of the Varia would probably want to spend the first few months of their retirement kicking back and enjoying their newfound leisure time. It would take a while for them to start getting bored of Mafia Land's various entertainments, so he could afford to take a few weeks off. Even those few mooks who'd decided to tag along rather than go back home were unlikely to make trouble.

"It would be nice to have company," Florrie agreed quietly.

Xanxus kissed her on the top of the head. "Settled then. And I'll be here next weekend too, as promised."

"But you're here now?"

"Said I'd be here next weekend; booked it and everything."

The huff and rueful smile were very encouraging, considering the turn the conversation had taken. "If you're sure."

"I'm sure."

Then Squalo was turning the car into the driveway in front of the house, so the conversation ended in favour of climbing out of the car and dashing through the rain into the building.


Xanxus didn't let the rest of his Guardians into his Cloud's flat until she'd eaten the first half of her breakfast, showered, dressed and settled in to eat the crepes he'd made for the second half of breakfast. Even then he asked first; it wasn't his house after all and Florrie was clearly still recovering from the previous day's party. His Cloud was not the most social individual and one night's sleep was not necessarily enough recovery time for an introvert to feel up to dealing with people again.

"Shall I let them in?"

His friend chewed her mouthful a bit longer and swallowed. "Well I do want those presents," she admitted candidly, "so yes. So long as nobody expects me to be hospitable."

"That's fine," Xanxus said easily; it was breakfast time and his other Guardians knew better than to expect a Cloud to step out of their comfort zone for them. "Another pancake?" Florrie called crepes pancakes; he wondered what she called American-style pancakes.

"Please."

Xanxus tipped the shallow pan so the crepe slid onto Florrie's plate, then turned off the heat and walked towards the flat's front door, fluctuating his Flames in a meaningful pattern as he did so. There was a thumping on the stairs as he opened the door and shark stuck his head out of the common room opposite. Seeing as Florrie had been in an antisocial mood last night, the Rain had slept upstairs rather than joining them in her bed.

"Morning Xanxus," shark drawled. "Time?"

"Come sit down," Xanxus said as Luss emerged from the kitchen with a tray and Bel arrived at the bottom of the stairs, Mammon floating after him.

Everybody settled themselves: Bel sitting cross-legged on the coffee table, Mammon piling up cushions on a dining chair to sit up across from Florrie, Squalo settling on the arm of the sofa, Luss sitting in the dining chair closest the front door and Xanxus sat in the last free chair at the table, picking up his coffee. "So, presents," he announced.

He'd made an executive decision considering the sheer volume of presents, so most of them were waiting until after lunch, but there was time enough to open all the personal ones before Florrie headed out for morning service.

"The prince will start," Bel announced, handing his gift to the shark, who handed it across to Xanxus to pass to Florrie. She opened it carefully –evidently not wanting to tear the fancy embossed paper– to reveal a DVD box and two CDs. "A… history of Germany in castles?" she translated tentatively, picking up the DVD; Xanxus leaned over to glance at the German.

"Close enough." The subtitle proclaimed it to offer insights into the political and social happenings of the Holy Roman Empire across the centuries.

"And two audio books," Florrie continued, looking down at the CDs. "Child and house stories?"

"Kinder und Hausmärchen," Bel corrected snootily, "translates more correctly as 'Children's and Household tales,' and is by the Brothers' Grimm. The original stories, not the later censored ones; most adults have no appreciation whatsoever of what children actually enjoy." He paused. "Although the second CD does have a lot of stories from other sources, many of which are not originally German, but I felt you would at least not struggle to understand them."

"Meaning my language comprehension in German is on par with an eight-year-old, maybe," Florrie deduced wryly, "and that my pronunciation is likely dire."

"I did not say that, peasant."

"No, you just implied it very loudly," the Cloud said humorously. "It's fine; I'm not proud. Not in this at least; thank you, I'll enjoy listening to them."

Bel nodded smugly.

"Me next I think honey bun," Luss said brightly, lifting a gift bag up from under the table and setting it in front of the Cloud. Florrie was considerably less careful with the paper this time; understandable when it was tissue.

"Oh wow," Florrie said a few seconds later, staring wide-eyed at the elaborately interlaced and segmented gold strip in her hands, "er, how do I?"

"It's a belt, honey," Luss said gently, "you can wear it over a dress or a shirt; it sits above the hips, as it's not intended to fit through belt loops."

Xanxus was very sure that was a traditional piece of Thai jewellery; he wondered if Luss had bought or commissioned it specially or whether this piece had a history.

"And earrings to match; oh they're beautiful," Florrie continued, opening the smaller gift. "I'm going to have to put my hair up, so I can wear these without them catching."

Luss was beaming and almost bouncing in his seat at how well his gift had gone down; Xanxus suspected that the Sun was mostly overjoyed to have somebody to hand who didn't object loudly when he tried to lavish expensive gifts on them. Luss loved looking after people, which occasionally involved buying them things; most of the Varia however didn't really want things since they had limited space to keep them in and didn't like clutter. Florrie however had a lot more space and lived a much more sedentary lifestyle than the average assassin, so they were many more gift opportunities available.

"Voi, my turn," Squalo said once Florrie had carefully set the jewellery aside. "Here," he passed over a rather large neatly wrapped box.

It turned out to contain a trio of framed stained glass ovals, each about thirty centimetres across and depicting a range of different wildlife. There was a forest one, a marine one and a mountainside one; Xanxus suspected a Superbi in-joke he was currently missing.

Oh; the mountainside one had a cougar on it. Joke found. Now he knew what to look for he could see the tiny spotted cat perched in a tree in the jungle, above the tapir and below the butterflies, and the marine one had a shark lurking behind the gaudy reef fauna. Cute.

"Squalo where did you get these?" Florrie demanded, finally looking up from the mountainside piece in her hands.

Shark smirked, clearly very pleased by how well his gift was going down. "Got a cousin who paints stained glass as a hobby," he said carelessly, "so made a commission. Like them?" Oh now shark was fishing.

"They're amazing and I'm going to have to sort out some stands of some kind, so I can put them up against the windows!"

Shark hummed, visibly smug.

Xanxus let Florrie admire her latest gift a while more, then when she finally let Luss have a look at them he put his own main gift on the table.

His friend noticed immediately. "Xanxus, you've already given me an impossibly beautiful watch; I'm even wearing it."

He'd actually made the watch; regular watches –digital and analogue– were not Flameproof, so Flame users had to buy mechanical watches from Underworld craftsmen, with gears and other parts made from specific alloys so they resisted Flame damage. Watch-making had been part of how he'd worked his way up to Flame Tech and Ring-smithing and it had been nice to go back to it, as it was both simpler and more demanding in certain specific ways. Another valuable skill he'd never really done much with, but that he could easily make a living off if he wanted.

"Like giving you things," he replied easily.

Florrie sighed, but she was still smiling. "Well in that case."

Xanxus watched her tear off the sticky tape, slightly worried despite himself. This was a rather risky gift, but it was one he wanted to give her. If he didn't she wouldn't be able to visit him where he would be living after Christmas, and with how things were likely to go down he might not be able to visit her here as often as he wanted to. Or at all.

His Cloud opened the box and paused, forehead crinkling and eyebrows lowering. Xanxus bit the inside of his mouth to stop himself from commenting. His friend's emotions had gone all still at the top with confusion at the bottom, which implied she was deliberately trying to reserve judgement until she knew what was going on. He had to not interfere.

His other Guardians were evidently aware of the undercurrents; Bel was watching avidly and Luss had sat back so as to be out of the line of fire.

Florrie removed the stack of papers from the top of the box and leafed through them, then carefully set them aside to pick up the faux-passport. Mafia Land didn't accept the regular kind; well they did, but most people didn't want to use their civilian identity for this kind of thing, provided they even had one. It had been pretty easy getting the paperwork –her being his Guardian meant he could do this kind of thing on her behalf– but that didn't mean she'd use it.

"Patience, Xanxus?" His Cloud asked mildly.

He shuffled in his chair, watching her from under lowered lashes. She didn't seem too annoyed with him… "Have another preference? Can change it," he offered.

Florrie rolled her eyes. "Not my point." She set the passport aside and removed the glasses case from the box, flicking it open. "I take it these are my cunning disguise?"

"They change your eye colour," Xanxus informed her, relieved she seemed to be going along with things for now. She might yet yell at him in private, but preliminary acceptance was promising. "And lighten your hair." Not by much, but dark brown to light brown with coppery highlights was a fairly significant change; as was changing her eyes from slate blue to hazel green.

"So slightly more sophisticated than just Clark Kenting it then," Florrie mused, unfolding the spectacles and sliding them on her nose. Xanxus blinked; the change was actually fairly startling. The colour changes in themselves weren't so off-putting, but combined with the thin brown ovals framing her eyes he could have walked past her in the street without recognising her.

"Voi, probably a good idea to do something different with your hair, too," shark commented.

"What, like not braiding it?" Florrie asked dryly. "My hair is wavy, Squalo; not tying it back is asking to spend two hours before bedtime combing the knots out and persuading it not to eat my hairbrush again."

"Maybe just leave the bangs at the front loose honey, and put the rest up in a bun?" Luss suggested. "Or do a high ponytail; experiment a little."

"We'll see," Florrie conceded, taking off the glasses again so her actual appearance was restored and putting them away in their case. "So care to share why I've been given a new identity for my birthday, Xanxus?"

He shifted slightly in his seat. "Retiring to neutral territory," he explained, "but it's deep Underworld; no civvies at all. Might not be able to visit you for a while, but your being my Guardian means I can arrange for you to visit me there. But want to keep your real identity away from all that, so." He waved at the passport, disguise and various paperwork which identified her as his Guardian and therefore permitted to visit the island whenever she liked, along with details of the relevant 'travel agents' to contact in order to get there, since he was now a registered resident and paying a hefty fee for the privilege.

"Hence sticking your surname on my new paperwork?"

"Guardians often use their Sky's family name, to protect their own family and to make clear who they're affiliated with." He'd wanted to use the Superbi name, but that would leave him open to Vongola machinations so 'Cavallone' it had to be. He'd settled for sticking his Superbi name as a middle name on his own paperwork; he was Xanxus Coguaro Cavallone to the Underworld now.

"And where do I keep this incredibly incriminating paperwork so nobody else accidentally finds it, Xanxus?"

Oh yes, that was point. A good point. "I'll sort you out a lock box that nobody else will notice." Like people didn't notice her ring or that she always had her phone in her pocket. Exceptions like pickpocketing little sisters borrowing said phone notwithstanding.

"Thank you," Florrie said firmly, putting everything back in the cardboard box he'd given it to her in. "I do want to be able to visit you, don't get me wrong, but the cloak and dagger bullshit is just ridiculous and nerve-racking."

Bel snickered and Squalo grinned; Xanxus couldn't help smiling either. His Cloud wasn't exactly wrong there, but unfortunately the Vindice were not completely clear on what counted as 'revealing the Underworld,' which lead to everybody being a bit paranoid about it. After all, the Vindice had in the past disappeared people for 'endangering Omertà' so it paid to be cautious.

"Got other presents," Xanxus offered, producing another two wrapped gifts from his pockets. "Not incriminating at all, promise."

His Cloud gave him a Look but accepted them. "Just so you know, my parents have decided –on their own, I might add– that you are in 'import-export,'" she told him, her voice carrying an amused yet pointed undertone.

That… "Bond joke?" James Bond had supposedly worked for 'Universal Exports.'

"Slightly," Florrie agreed, eyes on the thin package she was peeling back tape from, "but also a reference to a neighbour we had when we lived abroad, who sold helicopters out of his garage and worked in 'import-export.' It's kind of a pun, a catch-all for dubiously legal market practices and recognition that it's safer not to ask or pry too deeply."

Bel fell off the coffee table he was sniggering so hard; Xanxus did his best to ignore the amusement in the peanut gallery.

"Problem?" He asked.

"Not as such," his friend said slowly, "but they are rather relieved that we're not dating. They both think you're lovely, let's be clear, but they recognise that these things are not always as clear-cut as we'd like them to be." She unfolded the paper. "Oh these are adorable Xanxus!" Luss leaned in to see and cooed as Florrie picked up her gift.

He'd had photographs of the greyhound Box Weapons in their various knitted jumpers turned into a set of notecards; he'd thought she'd like them and he'd clearly been spot on, judging by how she was smiling.

"Voi, let's see those."

Florrie finished shuffling through them and handed them to Xanxus, who passed them back to the shark. Bel managed to crawl off the floor to peek at them over Squalo's shoulder; the Sky ignored the low-voiced murmurs in favour of watching his Cloud, who was opening the last of her presents from him.

"It's a… bowl?" She looked a bit puzzled. "A very pretty bowl though." She picked it out of the bubble wrap it was nested in and turned it over in her hands, admiring the colours blending and swirling in the glaze.

"Ice cream bowl," he told her cheerfully; he'd bought it from a Superbi cousin who threw pots as a hobby.

Florrie looked up instantly. "Is that a promise?"

"Yep; I brought lots of chocolate." He'd do it this afternoon, while Florrie was opening the presents the rest of the Varia had sent for her.

"Fantastic." She leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. "I love all my presents, thank you for them."

"But especially for promising ice cream?" He deduced easily, amused by the implication.

"Your chocolate ice cream is almost a religious experience, Xanxus!"

"My turn now," Mammon said firmly, placing a rather solid package wrapped in cheap brown postage paper in front of Florrie. Xanxus abruptly remembered his Cloud's threat last Christmas, to demand embarrassing photographs of him, and was suddenly slightly worried. What had Mammon managed to dig up?

Florrie unfolded the paper –the miserly Mist hadn't even bothered with tape– picked up one of the suspiciously thick Kodak envelopes within and folded the top flap back, tipping the prints into her hand.

"Awww," she cooed, "Look Xanxus, you're adorable!"

There was a sudden rush for the table, Bel and Squalo darting around behind Luss as the Sun shifted his chair closer and Xanxus leaned over to see for himself what had prompted that reaction.

It was him aged maybe six or seven, fast asleep on the couch in Ottava's rooms with somebody's suit jacket tossed over him as a blanket. Nebbia's suit jacket; it was indigo wool. The Florrie shuffled that photo to the back to reveal another one of him, this time of an even younger him –the way his cheekbones were sticking out made it clear he'd not been with the old fart long– looking stiff and awkward in a white shirt and black slacks, glaring thunderously at the camera.

"There's a familiar expression," Luss murmured wickedly.

"Where'd you get these?" Xanxus demanded, turning to Mammon as Florrie shuffled her winnings again to reveal a photo of him aged maybe eight, laughing and being pursued across the garden by a scorched, amused-furious Massimo.

"Nebbia," the Mist said smugly. A snicker from the shark had Xanxus quickly looking back at the pictures, which now showed a very put-upon pre-teen him wearing horrendously old-fashioned clothes; hey, he actually remembered that. Ottava had been chucking stuff out –well sending it to auction for charity or museums and stuff– and found some shit from when her older brothers had been his age, then demanded he wear it.

"Looking very dapper," shark drawled. Xanxus did his best to murder his intensely annoying Rain with his eyes.

The next picture was clearly a candid shot taken when he'd not known about it; it was from a party, with blurred figures in the background as his scrawny half-grown teenage self danced with Grandma, looking a bit comical because he was already half a head taller than her despite still being baby-faced. Which party that was he had no idea; he'd danced with her at all the parties until her legs had stopped cooperating and she'd had to spend the entire evening sitting down because she could only walk so far in a day.

The next picture was of teenage him again, aged maybe fourteen, crouched down wearing raggedy jeans and a tattered band shirt, liberally smeared in black grease and surrounded by motorbike innards, utterly engrossed in reassembling the engine he was nose to nose with. "This one I really, really like," Florrie said softly, "and I'm definitely putting it on the wall."

Xanxus felt his face heat, which was almost more embarrassing than having his Guardians all see these pictures. He was desperately trying to remember when he'd seen Grandma or Nebbia wielding a camera around him, but honestly the dressing-up occasion had been one of maybe three times that had happened. So how often had Nebbia had a camera on him and made sure nobody noticed he was taking pictures?

The next photo made it clear the answer to that question was 'far too often;' it was a photo of the time Federico and Massimo had tossed him in Lake Garcia; he was airborne and flailing. Bel snickered, then started giggling helplessly into his sleeve when the next photo revealed a plume of water and two grinning Vongola men turning towards the camera. The third picture showed him walking out of the lake, looking like a drowned rat with water weed draped over his sodden shirt and steaming ever so slightly as Federico folded over laughing and Massimo wisely ran for it. Next came a photo of him kicking Federico into the lake, the exact moment of the idiot's impact with the water captured forever.

Xanxus tried to ignore the cooing and amused sniggering coming from his Guardians; how many more picture were there?

The next picture… it hurt. He hadn't expected it. It was of him sitting on Grandma's sofa with a book, Grandma leaning into him fast asleep. Nebbia had captured a moment Xanxus was fondly side-eyeing Grandma, who had her mouth open and her head resting against his shoulder. The image brought the memory back, painfully clear: she'd been snoring gently in between mumbling about goats. It had been after he'd found out the old fart wasn't really his father, but in that specific instant all he'd been able to feel was how much he loved the irritating, wickedly teasing, briskly caring old lady who'd claimed him as her grandson.

These were Florrie's pictures, but Xanxus desperately wanted a copy of that one.

The next picture was of a toddler Bel wearing a bowl of soup –including all the soup– on his head, knocking his tiny toddler coronet cockeyed, which was a welcome reprieve. Bel promptly squawked in outrage.

"Why is there a picture of the Prince?!"

"Mu, it seemed wise to keep the playing field level in terms of blackmail photographs," Mammon said equably. Squalo instantly caught the subtext.

"Voi, you mean there're photos of all of us in there?!"

Mammon nodded, retrieving a mandarin from the fruit bowl and peeling it. Xanxus was swamped by a profound sense of gratitude mingled with delighted glee.

"Let's see the rest of them then," he demanded cheerfully.

"Well, that certainly explains why there're two packets," Florrie mused, grinning massively. "I'm going to have to buy lots more frames."

Squalo groaned loudly, head flopping forward so his forehead was resting on Florrie's shoulder. "You went and asked Grandpa, didn't you," he grumbled.

"Among others," Mammon agreed serenely. "Your life is far more extensively documented than the rest of ours; it was a challenge picking out the best pictures."

Xanxus perked up further at the prospect of being able to ask Delfino about pictures of the shark being tiny, shouty and incautious.

"Fucking doomed," the Rain grumbled behind his hair. Florrie meanwhile had switched pictures; this one had pre-schooler Bel covered in mud with a triumphant and faintly vicious grin on his face, tiara splattered but still firmly in place.

"The Prince remembers that," Bel said abruptly. "The Prince won the mud fight." Against his twin, who reading between the lines had been even more of a psychotic little monster than Bel and was probably half of why Bel was how he was. Shitty neglectful parents had a lot to answer for there.

"Well victories should definitely be documented," Florrie said pleasantly, shuffling that picture to the back.

The next photo was of eight-year-old Bel curled up on a Varia couch, sucking his thumb in his sleep and swaddled in a large jacket bearing the Storm Officer's insignia. If you looked closely it was possible to see a hint of spatter on the side of Bel's face; drying blood from his late and relatively unlamented predecessor, Triton, whose jacket that had been.

Bel hummed contentedly, clearly remembering that victory and sufficiently pleased that it was documented to overlook how adorably tiny he looked in the picture.

The next picture was far less dignified; it had Xanxus holding Bel up by the ankle at arm's length, the blonde mid-scream and twisting like a cat.

"Oh, I remember that," Lussuria said, tone redolent with vindictive amusement. "Somebody didn't want to eat their vegetables."

Xanxus remembered that too, although the specific instance blurred in with the rest of the clashes he'd won against Bel over the first few weeks of the prince's time at the Varia. The tiny royal had arrived with no concept of discipline and Xanxus had needed to be the person to instil it. He'd succeeded, but it hadn't been a smooth process.

The next photo was of a sulking Bel, wearing purple pyjamas and sat cross-legged in the middle of a stone room, the space completely bare except for ash and scorch-marks.

"I remember this one," Squalo chimed in, tone gleeful. "You refused to clean up your shit and you got some kind of insect infestation in your rooms from all those dirty plates, so Boss burned everything down to the stone; clothes, furniture, carpet and all."

Xanxus had also informed the pouty eight-year-old that he would do it again if he had to; Bel had thereafter made sure to leave food waste and blood-stained items outside his rooms, so Housekeeping could collect them. They refused to enter the Storm Officer's rooms on principle because he left poisons, knives and wires everywhere, tangled up with dirty clothing and books and sweet wrappers and all his other possessions.

"I could sit here all day looking through these and hearing the stories attached," Florrie said abruptly, "but I do want to get to church and it's already ten o'clock. We can look at the rest of them after lunch." With that she tucked the pictures back in the envelope. "I'll put these away and head out; I don't mind you staying here without me but stay out of my bedroom, please."

"Of course, honey," Luss agreed firmly. "You go have fun; don't worry, I'll keep everybody in line."

The Cloud smiled, looking slightly confused by that assertion but rolling with it. "Xanxus, there's a post-it with cooking times and instructions on the stew pot in the fridge; I'm sure you'll manage."

Yes, he'd noticed that while getting crepe ingredients out; the oven should be up to temperature by now.

"I'll just put all these things somewhere safely out of the way then head out," Florrie continued, voice dropping to a mumble as she scooped up her gifts into a careful pile and walked out of the kitchen.

"Voi, when you said pictures of everyone did you include yourself?" Squalo abruptly asked Mammon.

"Naturally."

"Okay," shark responded, clearly not expecting that answer. Xanxus knew better; Mammon liked that there were photos of them on Florrie's wall and in her albums. The Mist liked that there were photos of all of them here, in somebody's home, making them a part of the family. Why would they leave themselves out?


Florrie got back well before the stew was cooked, arriving at a moment when Bel was sassing Xanxus over his culinary competence. Squalo felt the Storm was being wilfully Dumb about the specifics there, but it wasn't his problem.

"Kitchens are for peasants."

Xanxus snorted. "I've seen you cook, trash."

Bel sniffed. "The Prince has many hobbies he indulges in; royalty may do as they please, when they please. The Prince however does not believe that Boss cooks merely when it amuses him to do so."

Okay, this was drifting into perilous territory.

"I always felt Xanxus was more of a warlord than a born royal," Florrie mused, pushing the door closed and hanging up her coat. "Reached his position through relentless competence, his followers all-but-worship him, and would take over half the known world if it caught his fancy."

Bel paused, then grinned. "The advisor has a point."

Squalo felt the tension seep out of his shoulders as the room's atmosphere lightened.

"Can we look at some more of those photos before lunch, honey?" Luss asked from the sofa, where he was leafing through a massive book of photographs of traditional body art from around the world.

"I don't see why not," the Cloud conceded. "The stew should take about another hour, I think, so there's time."

"Or could open some of your other presents," Squalo suggested, wanting to put off his own embarrassment for as long as possible.

Florrie blinked at him. "Other presents?" She asked.

"Yeah," he said dryly, waving at the cardboard box sat by the fireplace behind him. "You really shouldn't have sent out those thank you cards last Christmas; now everybody wants one." Well that probably wasn't everybody's reasoning, but those cards had been much admired and kept and with all the other shit going down at the Varia right now due to Nono's machinations, a lot more people than usual were making a big deal of birthdays. Because there were fewer missions, people were getting bored and any distraction was welcome.

Florrie stared levelly at the box. "I'm guessing that once again external dimensions do not offer a meaningful reference as to internal volume?" She commented lightly.

"Voi, could say that." He knew it was at least four times larger on the inside than it should be.

"Well, let's start with those then; I'll go get my book so I can make a note of everybody's names."


Lunch ended up not happening until nearly two, there were that many presents. Thankfully most of them were edible or otherwise intended for usage that would mean they ceased to exist –there were a number of candles, puzzle books in the various languages the Cloud was familiar with and packets of seeds for her garden– or else Florrie would have been pushed out of her home by the sheer volume of gifts. It looked like everybody had at least signed their name on a collective gift, so that was going to be a lot of thank you cards. One smartass had actually given her a box of notecards; Squalo had a feeling that gift was from somebody in Information, because he couldn't remember their Name off the top of his head and only Information were that aggressively forgettable.

"Please remind your people I live in a flat with limited space," the Cloud requested later over the meal, "and that I live alone, so don't exactly have people I can con into helping me eat things. I'm probably going to have to take some of this to classes so it doesn't go to waste."

Well she could invite friends over, but Florrie was a Cloud and didn't like people in her private space. Every now and then was fine, but most days? Not a chance.

"Will pass it on," Squalo agreed easily; the novelty was likely to wear off soon, especially with the mass retirement coming up, but getting that reminder in before everybody had bought their Christmas presents was probably a good idea.

"Of course, honey," Luss added comfortably.

"Is there a dessert planned?" Mammon asked after clearing their plate for the second time; their aging seemed to have sped up slightly recently, so rather than looking like a short six and a half they were halfway through a growth spurt and had the appearance of an average seven year old. Although the hood did make it trickier to accurately assess growth and guessing kids' ages was hard enough as it was.

"Well I was promised ice cream," Florrie said mischievously, "but I don't know what the rest of you are having."

The Mist instantly turned to pout at Xanxus, quickly joined by Bel and Luss. Their Sky ignored them completely, his attention on finishing his own meal. Squalo then realised that he was the only person who got to eat the fruits of Boss's ice cream experiments on the regular, other than Florrie and Xanxus himself; the Sky had apparently done a range of flavours for Mammon on their birthday, but so far Bel and Luss had only heard about it.

"Don't think Florrie's got enough ingredients," Xanxus said eventually.

"The shops won't shut until five," Florrie countered calmly. "I'm sure if you provided a list, someone would be happy to go to a supermarket."

"I'd be delighted to, Boss-honey," Luss wheedled, leaning forwards and fluttering his eyelashes.

The Sky hummed, then took another mouthful of stew. The anticipatory silence dragged on as he chewed.

"Notepad?" he asked after swallowing, glancing at Florrie. She beamed at him, hopped up from her chair and grabbed a reporter's notebook from the bookshelf beside the coat hooks, turning over the top page and handing it to him along with a pen.

"So what flavours are you doing?" she asked. "Other than chocolate, of course; I actually have a real vanilla pod you could deseed if you wanted, as well as vanilla extract."

"Strawberry?" Mammon asked.

"Not strawberry season," Xanxus countered absently; "not as nice when they're not fresh. Patisserie cream maybe, or ginger; get good ginger in syrup here, as well as fresh."

"Ginger sounds good," Squalo commented; he wasn't a big fan of sweets or dark chocolate, but ginger ice cream would be spicy as well as sweet.

"The prince likes plain ice cream, but vanilla is also pleasant," Bel said, "so long as it isn't too sweet. That ruins it."

"I've got some blackberries in the freezer," Florrie offered. "Quite a lot actually; I picked them myself."

"Chocolate, vanilla, ginger and blackberry then," the Sky decided, jotting down a list of ingredients and ripping the list off the pad, then shoving it at Squalo. "You go shark; won't crash."

Squalo rolled his eyes but accepted the paper; Xanxus was right, letting Luss drive the hire car was asking for trouble. "Come on Luss; got to find a fancy enough shop to buy quality ingredients."

It would probably take a little while to get everything on the list, but that wasn't really an issue. Boss would definitely start without them, but he'd promised Florrie large quantities of birthday chocolate ice cream anyway so if the Sky did that first, he could then get on with the stuff for sharing as soon as they got back with the supplies.


As promised, Xanxus took his Cloud's boots back to Sicily with him when they left. He'd already talked to the cobbler, so the man was expecting them and would have them resoled, checked over and thoroughly serviced by the time he went to see her again next weekend. He also had plans to adjust the building's Wards, something he could do because he owned it and was currently Varia Boss. However he wasn't going to be Varia Boss for much longer, so that safe house –along with all the others– would need the security modifying so it stopped referring to the Varia roster. Instead the new security would be tied directly to Florrie and himself, only allowing others into the building when invited and not permitting them to return after the invitation period was over. Various other safehouses would need their security tailoring to the desires of the primary residents or owners, but that was Housekeeping's responsibility if said residents or owners lacked the skill, ability or time to do it for themselves.

People who meant his Cloud no harm would still be able to walk up her front drive and knock at the door, but they wouldn't be able to put so much as a finger across the threshold without her permission, verbal or otherwise. Xanxus had a feeling the old fart would make an effort to hunt down all his contacts after his retirement, no matter how tenuous the leads, so there was a good chance of somebody finding the flight data and trying to determine what it was about Florrie's home city that caught his attention. He'd not exactly been discreet about marking his presence in and around her home, so Vongola agents might well actually find her. He was known to her social circle and now slightly regretting having so thoroughly intimidated all the potential food-thieves in her former halls of residence; that had made the both of them sufficiently memorable that somebody putting in enough time and effort could determine who and where she was.

She was blatantly civilian and there was no proof to the contrary, so they were unlikely to act overtly against her, but it was nonetheless a possibility. Ensuring her home was secure was all he could do at this point –and not something they could cite as proof of her awareness of the Underworld– and she had Gwyn, which meant she would be protected in emergencies; if it came to a confrontation she had a phone to reach him on –he'd recently bought the entire Varia mobile phone database and all the handsets from Mammon at fire-sale prices– and she was vanishingly unlikely to get physically roughed-up even if she was found. People were not going to think she was anything more than his mistress –at most– unless they had unusually keen Flame-senses, which most people outside the Varia didn't.

He still didn't like the possibility, but there wasn't anything he could do about it. Florrie wasn't going to move –she was enjoying her second year at university– so he had to live with her choices.

At least she could visit him soon. He'd made sure her Mafia paperwork was secure in a safe in a Mist-expanded space under the bottom drawer of her bedside table, then also Bound it to her Box Weapon so that if she desperately needed the paperwork and disguise to be in her pocket it would be. He'd told her of course; she'd rolled her eyes at him but accepted the precaution.

Should everything go to hell she'd be able to escape and make her way to him. That would have to be enough.


The situation with the boot-maker –and the ceramics engineer who supplied the Varia with trauma plates, knives, replacement teeth and a range other minor but necessary supplies– was a sensitive one, because unlike the various farmers, tanners, carpenters, paper mills and foundries that picked up Varia supply contracts, they did not have enough non-Varia customers to remain comfortably in business without the patronage of the assassination division. Hell, the ceramics engineer had only gone into business in the first place with a Varia grant, as their experiments in pottery had caught Housekeeping's attention and they'd done several collaborative projects with Equipment and Medical before going into business full-time. They were technically civilian, but the Varia Boss had a feeling the background check had included some vaguely mafia relatives. Nothing Vongola though; minor Palermo stuff.

The ceramics engineer was coming with them to Mafia Land –he was youngish and loved his craft enough to sign on with the Cavallone in order to continue pursuing the limits of what could be done– but the boot-maker was the latest of a long line of boot-makers dating back to the seventeenth century, who had managed to keep his business going in the face of modern mass-production due to exclusive Varia patronage. Without three-hundred-and-change guaranteed customers a year keeping him comfortably off he would probably have to downsize, which would be bad news for his sons, nephew and grandson all employed in his workshop, hoping to continue making boots for the rest of their lives.

There would still be about seventy or so guaranteed customers per year –the local Varia retirees were not about to stop wanting high-end boots and horse had been very interested in where Xanxus's extremely resilient footwear came from– but that was still a dramatic reduction in clientele and after Christmas the former Varia would not be able to wander through Vongola territory en masse to buy new shoes. It just wouldn't work.

Cheshire was actually another of the boot-maker's grandsons and had got saddled with the task of breaking the news as a result; the decision-making process there was ongoing, but so far it looked like the old boot-maker was going to 'retire' early and leave the current workshop to his sons, who were by this point perfectly capable of working unsupervised and running the business without their father. The old man would continue to tutor his nephew and grandson –the expensive and challenging part, when the boots had to be made Flameproof and there were proprietary and personalised family secrets to be instilled in the apprentices– and it was starting to look like he was willing to follow his customer base's exodus in the interests of providing his students with sufficient experience.

Xanxus had already made it clear to Mammon that he was willing to offer a low-interest loan to the man so he could set up on Mafia Land –under Cavallone protection of course, to keep the scavengers at bay– and allow him to market his Flameproof footwear to all discerning Underworld individuals who could afford them, rather than just Vongola customers and the occasional rich civilian. He'd probably be filthy rich within five years; the only reason it would take that long was that without his sons he'd be the only person capable of creating the full product for the year or two it would take for his nephew's work to reach the desired standard.

The grandson was only in the beginning stages of his apprenticeship, so he'd need five or six years to reach a level of competence the old man was satisfied with.

Flameproof boots were a niche product, but Xanxus had not come across anybody in the Underworld who provided work of equal quality. The Vongola shoemakers were technically an offshoot of old man Zavatteri's family –shoes were apparently 'for apprentices'; Xanxus sensed an old feud there– who had risen in importance since cars had overtaken horses as the favoured transport method, but those shoes couldn't hold a candle to the Varia's boots. Yes, Xanxus did own a pair of fancy dress shoes for parties and disguises, but only because the canny old boot-maker had provided them of his own initiative on the basis that the Varia Boss needed 'properly made shoes' as well as boots.

Oh yes, very definitely a low-lying family feud with the Vongola's shoemakers.


The first time Xanxus had met his Superbi grandma and aunt had been in late July, and there'd been almost no actual conversation because Sara Mancuso had been too overwhelmed and tearful to do more than hug him, wipe her eyes, and choke out in between sobs her thanks for passing on the information of where her daughter was buried. It had been horrendously awkward and he hadn't had the faintest idea what to do, so had sat tight and done his best to listen to his aunt Ornata talk about what she remembered of his mother and field questions about himself as best he could.

The second meeting had been in late August, by which point Grandma was somewhat more composed and had asked questions herself, mostly about him, while his aunt only spoke up occasionally to keep the conversation moving. Grandma had also talked a bit about his mother, mostly anecdotes Ornata had been too young to remember or teenage things the younger woman had been oblivious to at the time. Xanxus had made an effort to be honest about the things he enjoyed and did, but it had still been awkward. Less awkward than the first meeting, but still unsettled; the subject of his mother's later life lay between them like a chasm, deep and dark and fraught. There were going to be questions about that later; Xanxus was not looking forward to them.

He'd learned more about his mother though, including things he'd never even thought about or noticed. Like the fact she'd been tall; actually taller than the old fart, as it happened. To him she'd just been his mother, and he'd not seen her after the age of six so he'd just assumed that his memories of her being so much bigger than him were due to a child's perspective; it turned out that no, she'd been a hundred and seventy-six centimetres tall. Which yes, was twenty centimetres shorter than he now was, but it was also almost ten centimetres taller than the old fart; she'd been very tall indeed for a woman, especially a Sicilian woman. Superbi blood accounted for some of that, but didn't change the fact that the average women's' height in Italy was one hundred and sixty-two centimetres –and Sicilians tended to be a bit shorter than that– which was fourteen centimetres less than Ma had.

It made Xanxus want to snigger hysterically really; his mother had been taller than Enrico and the same height as Federico. He had no idea how tall his father had been –he should ask Dario– but clearly he got his height from both sides of the family, seeing as Dino was one hundred and eighty-three centimetres despite apparently taking more after his own mother than Andrea Cavallone.

Xanxus was now one hundred and ninety-six centimetres tall; he was starting to hope he'd finally stopped getting taller, because soon he really would be at risk of cracking his head on every single door lintel like shark's apprentice-cousin did. Mahi was slightly over two metres tall now and he was only seventeen; he could easily continue getting taller for a while yet. He was also going to fill out a lot, guaranteed; his father Uro was built like a bull and Mahi was looking likely to follow suit. For now though he was all stretched and awkward and scarecrow-looking, which was very amusing indeed; he towered over the rest of his Squad by over thirty centimetres and was very obviously uncomfortable doing so.

He'd get over himself in a few years and settle better in his own skin, but for now he was all elbows and knees and crippling embarrassment every time he stumbled into something –or someone– well below his eye level. He was admittedly a damn fine Squad Leader despite that, but there was plenty of room for improvement there.

Xanxus's third sit-down with his aunt –just his aunt this time– was in November, and didn't go at all like he'd been expecting it to.


"How was your week?"

"Good," Xanxus said, groping blindly for anything he could say to keep the conversation limping along without violating his own secrecy protocols. "Productive." He'd arranged for his workshop equipment to be shipped to Mafia Land this week, so it would hopefully arrive before mid-December. The interim period was going to be irritating, but needs must. "Bequests from Nono's sons and Donna Ottava finally came though, so been looking through those and reminiscing." That was a much safer subject, but it was also much more painful and he hadn't quite decided how he felt about things yet there, so didn't really want to talk about them. Especially not Grandma's photo albums. "You?"

"Ah well," Ornata said, sitting forwards and cradling her glass of sparkling water, "it's been a challenging few days."

Xanxus raised an eyebrow, encouraging her to go into more detail.

She did so. "I don't know if I told you, but I work for an artisan pottery business specialising in replicas made with authentic materials."

Xanxus hummed interestedly; she hadn't told him, but that sounded fascinating. There'd be a lot of artistic craftsmanship required in such a business, as well as a great deal of scientific and historical expertise.

"As you can imagine, we get all kinds of customers," his aunt went on, "some of whom just want plates or bowls to match grandma's set they just inherited because there're only three left after a lifetime of breakages but it's still finer quality than anything they could buy new these days. Then there are museum orders to promote exhibitions and set dressing for period dramas and the like, all kinds, but this week we had a lady bringing in a completely stunning Jun ware tea bowl –genuine twelfth century with a slightly marbled red-purple glaze, probably cost about fifty thousand American dollars at auction– wanting us to make her a full set of bowls and dishes to match, along with a teapot."

"Isn't Jun ware one of the hardest glazes to replicate successfully?" Xanxus asked, because antique ceramics were something that consistently sold well, so Mammon had a week-long course they ran annually for new Varia, to ensure everybody knew how to identify various types for productive and efficient looting.

"Yes, it is," his aunt agreed animatedly, "and there aren't any Jun teapots because teapots weren't even invented until the thirteenth century and there are no surviving pieces dating before the sixteenth century, which any real collector would know. Our potters were actually delighted to have a crack at replicating Jun glazes –even if most of them didn't turn out perfect they'd still look good enough for general sale– but the teapot argument lasted for hours and in the end we agreed to make some anyway, no matter that they'll make it instantly obvious to any discerning guest that the entire set is a recent replica. Or seventeenth century Shiwan ware at best."

Xanxus chuckled. "Defeating the entire point of having a full set made." The only reason a person would want a full set of what looked like incredibly rare stoneware rather than show off the original item as an exhibition piece would be to present themselves as being even more outrageously wealthy than they were already.

"Exactly," Ornata agreed, shaking her head. "I mean, like I said we get all kinds of people in, but the filthy rich are by far the most ridiculously unreasonable." She sighed. "Well, at least the artisans will get scans and spectroscopy data of authentic Jun ware for their records; they do enjoy that kind of thing and it may even open up other opportunities if the supplementary pieces sell well."

"Like a small set of those tea bowls," Xanxus admitted; shark was very hard to buy for, but he liked tea and some classy tea bowls would be well-received. "Would they be ready in early March? A Guardian has a birthday."

"I'm sure it would be no trouble at all to put together a set of the higher-quality pieces that don't quite meet that client's standards for you," his aunt said amiably, producing a notebook and making a note, "and yes, they should be ready by then. Four bowls?"

"Yes, thank you."

She eyed him mischievously. "For Squalo, I take it? Don't worry, I won't tell; I'll even make sure our various relatives working on the glazes know to keep their mouths shut. It's not a Superbi business per se, but we've a few distant cousins involved on both the pottery and the chemistry side. We do all like a challenge." Her lips twitched. "I may even see if we can throw in a teapot; I'm sure he's informed enough to spot the anachronism."

Xanxus chuckled again; yes, shark probably was and it would give him the opportunity to share the associated story. "Any other amusing customer stories?" He asked, aware that the awkwardness had decreased over the previous few minutes of unexpected common ground and wanting to keep things moving. "I've got a couple but," he shrugged, "got to censor them." For obvious reasons.

"So many, you have no idea," Ornata said with feeling. "Tell you what; you tell one while I pick out a few good ones, then I'll share mine. Several are fairly hilarious in retrospect."

"Sounds good." He could tell one funny story; the Varia had very few entertaining customer anecdotes and this one was one of just three that was consistently amusing even for civilians. After that he could switch to listening, which promised to be much easier now they'd stumbled on some common ground in a subject his aunt was genuinely passionate about.

"So tell me this story then!"

"So we got a client," Xanxus began, "and in addition to the usual, they describe in considerable detail this silver teapot that has to be removed from the scene. They don't care what happens to the rest of what's in the building, but the teapot must go." This had happened just before he was put on ice and it had been the highlight of the week at the time.

His aunt made an interested sound in her throat.

"We were all very curious, of course," Xanxus continued, "more so when it turned out there was no shortage of other valuables and the teapot was a very fine mid-nineteenth century piece in sterling silver, with hand-chased florals and scrolling, monogrammed. Worth about two thousand euros to a collector, but not the most valuable piece in the building by a long shot." He paused for effect. "Two weeks after the fact the customer pronounces themselves highly satisfied and sends a bonus, so we take the opportunity to ask what the big deal with the teapot is."

"And?" Ornata demanded, sitting forwards in her chair.

"Turns out the teapot was the focus of a whole lot of family infighting," Xanxus shared lightly. "People in favour being told they'd be left it in the will –it was a family heirloom, personally commissioned for an ancestor as a wedding gift– then when they did something the owner objected to, they'd turn around and say it would be left to somebody else." He shook his head. "So much anger and recrimination and vitriol and tears, all over a teapot, to the point that the client decided they wanted to remove it from the equation entirely." The victim had been the client's grandmother-in-law and he'd been sick and tired of seeing his wife in tears over the latest twist in her ongoing family spat. The victim had also been suffering some kind of mental deterioration, which really hadn't helped, and the whole drama had a distinctly toxic flavour that had been palpable even second-hand. The family matriarch's 'heart-attack' in response to discovering a 'home invasion' had curtailed the conflict entirely, bringing everybody together to mourn and set their differences aside.

"They insisted we either keep hold of it or destroy it entirely," Xanxus added, "but it's worth too much for our treasurer to let us turn it into scrap, so we still have it. Gets used every day at breakfast time, even." It was a perfectly good teapot after all and such things were made to be used.

His aunt broke out in snickering. "Oh my," she managed eventually, "I can see it! Your good deed of the year, no doubt; bringing a family together!"

Xanxus nodded, humming smugly. It was not at all the usual kind of mission story and all the more entertaining for it.

"Well, I'm not sure I can match that," his aunt admitted, "but I've got a few interesting stories you might like." She smiled, the playful expression abruptly reminding him of his mother on her rare good days. "I think the story of the desk lamp is a good place to start."

"Desk lamp?" Xanxus repeated, curious. That was hardly an object that included rare ceramics. Well, not usually at least.

"This was a good few years back," Ornata continued, ignoring his question, "before I married or even met my husband. A middle-aged gentleman arrived in our front office with a cardboard box and worriedly confided in me that he'd knocked over his wife's favourite table lamp. An early Tiffany lamp, or so he claimed; he was quick to say that the glass shade was entirely undamaged, but the ceramic foot had broken over a letter rack and he would like us to make an identical replica for her."

"Tiffany did ceramics?" Xanxus hadn't known that.

"They did not," Ornata said firmly, "and I knew that, so I assumed the lamp was a cheap replica. However it wasn't a particularly challenging-sounding job so I agreed and put it in the books, passing on the box of shards to the potters so they could determine glaze composition from one of the fragments and whip up a copy." She paused for effect. "Except that two days later I have the spectroscopy team in the front office, wanting to know where the criminally abused early thirteenth century celandon Song meiping had come from and why we'd quoted such a low price to replace it."

Xanxus couldn't help his bemused grin. "A celandon vase?"

His aunt hummed. "It so happened," she said dryly, "that the lamp –which was indeed a Tiffany– had originally belonged to the customer's wife's aunt, who had decided at some point that the original lamp stand was 'ugly' and had her husband take it apart and set the light and shade in an old vase of a complimentary colour instead. An 'old vase' that happened to be a completely gorgeous piece of Longquan ware, probably worth as much as the customer's house before it was turned into a lamp stand and had a hole drilled in the bottom." She sighed. "We did replace it with an identical copy –with a modern maker's mark on the bottom, of course– and then since the customer let us buy the broken pieces off him at a ridiculously low price, another Superbi was called in to repair the vase with kintsugi. The repaired piece sits in pride of place in our display case to this day, alongside another replica for comparison."

Xanxus chuckled. "Funny," he agreed. If Mammon had been there to see that they'd probably have strangled the customer in question with their own two hands, for his carelessness and utter failure to appreciate the vase's monetary value.

"I have plenty more stories," his aunt informed him lightly, taking a sip of her drink.

"Please?" Xanxus asked hopefully. He really was interested in the subject matter, but more to the point conversation was finally flowing smoothly and he was enjoying that just as much. Ornata was opening up and he was getting a feel for her personally, which was what this was really about. They were trying to get to know each-other and it felt like they were finally hitting their stride.

"Of course; the story of the risqué Meissen porcelain figurines, I think. This will make you laugh; it was some filthy rich asshole's idea of a practical joke at the expense of his collector friends."

Xanxus smirked; he could already sense where this might be going. "Do tell."


The Varia's wholesale move to Mafia Land started in early December with Tyrant decamping to Xanxus's official new residence and taking all the Apprentices with him, along with half the Mists in Security, most of the repairs team and a few of the kitchen and laundry staff. The Housekeeping advance guard was then followed by the Immortal Squads, who being mature and responsible –supposedly– and having specific additional responsibilities were considered the best people to settle in first. Who would be living where was already decided –there'd been some loud arguments over the copy of the blueprints Boss had provided but everything had been firmly settled by mid-November– so it was just a matter of leaving the personal boxes in the right places and getting stuck into the infrastructure improvements.

Missions were carefully tailored so that every Squad in the field could end their assignment as near to the floating island as possible then make their own way to it, with those Varia not taking missions in the run-up to Christmas helping Housekeeping to pack up everything else, either for transport or sale. The horses in the stable were all going back to the Cavallone –who were where most of them had come from in the first place– half the trees and most of the more exotic plants were being sold to collectors and nearby botanical gardens, several of the cats were being re-homed, retirement paperwork had all been meticulously checked and double-checked to ensure all loopholes were closed and Mammon had dug up official severance and closure paperwork from somewhere, which was now almost completely filled in and only needed a few final additions before Boss could sign it, thereby declaring the Assassination Division officially defunct.

So far it was looking like the critical moment was going to be the Solstice Ball; close enough to Christmas that very little retaliation could be effectively commissioned and ruthlessly public. Boss would have the space and audience to say his piece, as well as the opportunity to take advantage of the subsequent upheaval get out of both the Iron Fort and the country in short order.

Squalo would be at the ball too; he wasn't letting his Sky do this alone. His fellow Officers and Mammon were all going to be there as well, to provide moral support and assert that they were tendering their resignations in protest of Boss's treatment by Don Vongola. The detail that there was no longer a Varia to be led would hit later; Mammon would be delivering the severance and closure paperwork along with the official books shortly after Christmas, or at least ensuring that the relevant paperwork would not be found until then. The five-day panic attack that Nono would doubtless experience over the festive season at the prospect of the entire Assassination Division being without clearly designated leadership was entirely deserved, and if they were lucky might even result in a stroke.

The Rain Officer recognised he was being terribly uncharitable and didn't particularly care. That Chew Toy was likely to be in attendance didn't move him either; trash had gone back to Japan with his Guardians at the end of October, but Nono would now be inducting his Heir in earnest and would want him –and his entourage– present at all significant Vongola events from now onwards. Because Nono oh so clearly valued Chew Toy's education; that was how much school missed in this year alone? Well, that –and Chew Toy– didn't matter anymore.

The twenty-first of December was going to be a truly magnificent disaster; Squalo could hardly wait.


The morning of the Solstice Ball Xanxus took a long shower after breakfast then spent a full five minutes with his wardrobe standing open, glaring at its contents.

There were half a dozen different ways he could play this, all of which would work but in different ways. So the question was: how did he want this to go? He could be fully formal and sober, emphasising the business aspect and the old fart's disregard for proper Vongola practice; he could wear his usual Varia Head uniform, fixing in everybody's minds that his strength and reputation would no longer shield them; he could dress in a manner reminiscent of his blood-father, forcing everybody to recognise his real heritage over the old fart's lies; he could mimic the old, faded photographs of Secondo and draw attention to the parallels and mirrors with the Vongola's history, but with the strong being driven out in favour of the indecisive and unrealistic this time around; he could wear more orange than usual, reminding people that to the wider Underworld he was the Alliance's most capable and visible Sky; he could even wear one of his uncanny-valley outfits, making it clear that he was a force to be feared and the old fart had thoroughly and deliberately alienated him.

But what did he want?

He wanted to be recognised as a mature and responsible adult. He wanted to be taken seriously. He wanted there to be no doubt in anybody's minds that without his protection the Vongola Alliance would be horrendously and immediately vulnerable to threats both internal and external, but for it also to be clear that he was taking this step because Nono Vongola had left him no other choice that enabled him to keep his dignity.

So… suitably formal but not overly sober; he had to show he had personality. Orange accents, maybe style his hair a bit like Nono Cavallone had, but lightly stitch the Varia Head accoutrements currently on his Varia jacket to his suit jacket, so they could be easily removed and thrown in the old fart's face.

He'd wear the tie with the prancing gold tigers Florrie had given him, along with the silly tiger socks; the tiger faces over his toes would be hidden in his dress shoes, but the stripes up the leg would be visible if he sat down. Black shirt under his suit –like Secondo– but orange amber cuff-links and one of the pumpkin-coloured handkerchiefs Florrie had given him this last birthday. Minimal feathers and no tails; he wanted to look like he was making an effort without entirely compromising himself. No guns –sadly– but he'd have all his rings –bar the Varia Rings which they'd all have to give back, but he'd already made replacements for those– and a range of other hold-out weapons. Mammon had been spitting tacks over having to leave the Varia Rings behind –they'd been shockingly expensive, mostly because they'd been a rush job– but they'd been bought with Varia money and had the Varia crest on, making them Varia property rather belonging to Xanxus personally.

Styling his hair to match the rather seventies' look Andrea Cavallone had favoured was going to be a pain, but at least the man had gone for a slightly dishevelled side-parting rather than a mullet; Xanxus refused to wear a mullet. It was named after a fucking fish. He was tall enough that nobody was going to be able to miss him, would have to push his Flame presence out so the old fart didn't try to smother him as soon as he walked in the door and didn't particularly care what his Officers wore; they were all adults, Bel included. They knew what was going down. They didn't need micromanaging.

Well, now that was decided he had most of the day to tie up loose ends and let Housekeeping finish packing up his rooms. His go-bag had Stripes the tiger in it along with several changes of clothes, but he should add his boots since he wouldn't be wearing them this evening. Then it would just be a matter of helping out around the building so everything was set, check over the modified security and have a bit of fun laying traps in the grounds with the last few Squads and most of the GMs. Anybody getting inside after they left would have to be able to prove they were Quality first, after all; it wouldn't do for them to be allowed to call themselves 'Varia' without that.

The phones were 'down' now, as Mammon had ripped out all the wiring last night and coiled up the copper for sale, so anybody trying to get in contact with the Varia would get an automated message saying the number could not be reached. All the electrics were down too –the computers had already been shipped out, along with the light bulbs– and the heating had been switched off and drained so Mammon could take out the radiators and pipes, so everybody was making do with Flame-tricks and blankets and battery packs. There was still cold water and the toilets flushed, but that was it… and only in those bathrooms that hadn't already been stripped of fittings, of course. That would continue late into the evening, after Xanxus and his Officers left for the ball. All of Housekeeping who were going to Mafia Land had left already, so the only ones left were those staying behind and they were too few to do all of the work.

Xanxus had taken on the responsibility of making sure the last few fridges stayed cold –Flame Ice was so handy– and had also ensured all the Cursed objects in the sub-basements had been properly packaged –read 'frozen solid'– for either transport or leaving behind securely. Flame Ice turned out to be a perfect insulator and Mammon was interested in whether the pieces would still be Cursed when they were eventually defrosted. If they weren't, then Xanxus had just accidentally solved a problem that had been plaguing the Varia for decades. He was also supervising the heavy lifting, because the mooks were in the final phase of that now and everything was being ripped out and either packed up to be transferred or set aside to be delivered to whoever had bought it.

His last duty as Varia Boss would be closing the Archive with the updated files of retirement paperwork, so the semi-sentient room would 'know' that there were no more Varia on the active roster after tomorrow morning and to keep everybody out of the mission reports until a suitably intrepid hopeful had proved themselves to have Quality. The Archive usually limited itself to sending people walking in circles if they tried to get at paperwork they weren't authorised for, but it had once 'eaten' an over-ambitious mook who shouldn't have been in the room at all. In that the man had been seen walking in, but had never walked out again. That had been six years back; nobody ever found a body, so it was presumably still in there somewhere.

Xanxus wasn't too worried about the Archive's integrity; Mammon was anchoring the remaining Wards to it, so it could sustain itself, and there was a high enough ambient Flame level in the building to keep it going for over a decade even without that. It would outlive the old fart's policy failure and probably Chew Toy as well; if the eventual Undicesimo asked nicely, Xanxus might even come back, open the building and train up a new core Varia for them. Provided they paid well on top of grovelling apologetically.

However things went, they were well past the point of no return. He just had to decide what he wanted to say this evening, how he wanted to say it and make sure he got away clean.


Squalo flexed his fingers, stretched his shoulders and bounced lightly on his toes as Boss took his time climbing out of the car. It felt like the run-up to a fight, which it was; his Sky would however be fighting with words and implications, not blades or Flames. Well, there likely would be a Flame aspect, but nobody was going to die. Not unless Nono Vongola had an untimely stroke or heart attack.

Boss straightened up, adjusted his jacket, tugged on his tie knot –much smarter and tighter than he usually bothered with– sighed and set off for the front door, Officers plus Mammon falling in around him. They were a mixed bag; Squalo was in his uniform –the insignia loosened so he could rip them off without damaging the jacket– and so were Bel and Sumu, but Luss was wearing a blouse, sabai and sinh –Thai traditional dress for special occasions– Maínomai had on a very swish blue wool suit and Mammon was dressed exactly the same as they ever were in their hood and robe.

The biggest difference really was Boss's hair; Squalo had never seen it looking so tidy and it somehow enhanced the resemblance to Bronco, which was probably the point.

They swept past the trash on door duty, down the hallway, around the corner and into the ballroom, which was of course already full of dons, underbosses, House Heads and miscellaneous suck-ups, all schmoozing and picking at the buffet. Boss swiftly located the Cavallone party and headed over to say hello; seeing him standing next to that asshole Dario was fucking uncanny in how it made the likeness impossible to miss.

It was making a bit of a stir really; Squalo could already hear the suck-ups and gossips with a good line of sight speculating breathlessly. The details of the late Andrea Cavallone's rampant womanising had seeped out into the open over the past six months –most of the focus on Bronco's determination to do well by his illegitimate siblings and how gentlemanly he was rather than making much of the dead man's misdeeds– so nobody would have the slightest difficulty making the connection.

Boss being a Cavallone rather than a Vongola would be all over the Alliance before dawn; exactly as planned.

Lots of people were perceptibly wrong-footed by his Sky's mature but slightly playful choice of dress; also exactly as planned. Those people would now see Xanxus as a person rather than blindly going along with their own prejudices, making them less likely to dismiss tonight's happenings as 'sabotage' or 'an overreaction.' Boss looked like 'one of them' so they would subconsciously judge him accordingly, putting themselves in his shoes and weighing Don Vongola's actions according to what they would do if faced with such a choice.

The Varia –well ex-Varia now– had a betting pool on how much longer the Vongola would be leading the Alliance after this; Squalo had his money down on everything being over within the year.

Nono wouldn't demand Boss attend him immediately; he was far too busy being brown-nosed to by the sycophant brigade and would only bother to speak to his supposed 'son' once the event was well under way, so that Boss couldn't leave before then. Which on the one hand was rude –the Varia Head ran a Vongola House so should be one of the people Don Vongola greeted first– but on the other it meant they had time to eat and add grist to the rumour mill before the floor show. Showing up at all was attention-grabbing enough, never mind the undercurrents that would get gradually more obvious to the other guests as the night progressed.

Grabbing a plate, Squalo served himself a decent array of bite-sized nibbles then drifted back to his Sky's elbow, avoiding the alcohol selection entirely. Pantera and Uncle Leone would probably wander this way soon enough, being rightly suspicious of why Boss was even here after being conspicuously absent for so many years running, so he needed to stay sharp.

With a bit of luck they could get things over with before midnight, but Squalo wasn't counting on it.


"Rain Officer."

So brat was practicing his manners? Squalo grinned. "Rain Guardian."

Springer grinned as off to one side Chew Toy managed to address Xanxus as 'cousin' without stuttering and bravely attempted small-talk. "Now we've completed the appropriate formalities, how are things going, sempai? I've not seen you for months."

Squalo rolled his eyes and playfully punched his apprentice in the shoulder. "Voi, it's all about what we were expecting," he said easily, which was completely honest yet utterly misleading. "You should stop by my Family before Christmas; I know Pantera wants to talk to you about something." Which yes, kitty did, but the Superbi Heir would also want to cross-examine brat over what he'd noticed on his various Varia visits and what had been talked about. Which he would get away with; Springer was Squalo's apprentice and apprenticeships were a kind of adoption, so the Tenth Vongola Rain Guardian was a Superbi by technicality.

"No trouble with the mission caps then?" Brat was still sharp enough to cut himself.

"Nothing you can do anything about," Squalo said repressively. "Nono planned that well in advance, voi; he even had the paperwork on hand. You don't get to throw your weight around until your Sky's actually in charge." Which he wasn't yet, regardless of what Nono was saying about 'handing certain aspects of business on to the next generation.' Nono hadn't done any of that even back when his own sons had been alive and Federico had been Heir; if Federico had been busier and more involved in the business side, he'd probably not have had time to wander off and get immolated.

"As you say, sempai." There was still a hardness to Springer's eyes that indicated he was going to continue pushing his Sky on the matter, but Chew Toy had as much spine as the average jellyfish so clearly wasn't managing to make his preferences known to Nono. Not that Nono would do anything about said preferences anyway.

Then Ganache came over to tell Boss he was being summoned, so Squalo disentangled himself from his student and fell in alongside the others behind his Sky.

Showtime.


Xanxus kept his mouth firmly closed –teeth clenched– all through the old fart's meandering and frankly insulting greeting, which included snide commentary on how nice it was to see him at a social event –for once– and a long diatribe on how he needed to be less antisocial. The elderly fool eventually rambled to a halt, doubtless puzzled by Xanxus's lack of participation or irate interruptions.

"Don Vongola," the Varia Boss said clearly into the pause, deliberately pitching his voice to carry and trusting that Mammon and Maínomai between them could temporarily stymie Vongola Security's attempts to keep their don's conversations private, "I am tendering my resignation as Head of the Varia, effective immediately, in the hopes that you will find my successor less personally objectionable, and lighten or remove the sanctions placed on my subordinates in response to your displeasure at how I conduct my private family affairs." He removed the Varia Sky ring from his finger, pulled the various insignia from his suit jacket with a few quick tugs and placed the lot in the old fart's unresisting hands. Then he took a step back and gave a brief bow. "I, Xanxus Coguaro Cavallone, do formally and officially renounce my position within the Vongola Alliance; from today onwards I answer to my don and him alone." Those were the words to be spoken by a member of an Allied Family when stepping down from an Alliance role. "Goodbye."

With that he let Mammon shift him directly back to the car, where Lethe was waiting.