A/N: Well, this is the final chapter. I feel kind of sad for ending this, because I actually started to like my character in the writing process, but whatever. I finally have a finished story to brag about for years. I'm so awesome. Anyways, thanks for putting up with my crap for I-don't-know-how-long! Reviews will be appreciated as always! I STILL DON'T OWN KATEKYO HITMAN REBORN! AND THE VARIA.

XVIII: To feel like survivor

When I woke up, I felt perfect, great and one hell of a strong motherfucker. The birds were chirping, the grass was green, the trees were green, the sun was hot and shiny and there wasn't any sadness in the world. Screw that, the whole sentence was a lie - it was the 29th of November and the weather was cold, misty, rainy and shitty in general. There were no birds, no hot and shiny sun, no green grass and trees and I was pretty sure that half of the world population was depressed and sad. But screw that too, because I was Da Boss. Da strongest muthafucka in the world. Da scariest bastard. Because I survived. I survived a damn year in this goddamn place. And I was freaking rich! Take that, you bastards, I'm fucking awesome!

But I had to take a uncomfortable, awkward and cold bath in my tub, because as rich and awesome I was, half of my bathroom's content was broken after my last over-drinking and I didn't have a cent to fix it. Only the tub, the toilet and the sink survived my attack. You see, I wasn't lying when I said I was rich - I'm rich one or two days after I receive a check for a mission. After that, I beg for money to buy cigarettes until I have a new mission again. But I'm still awesome and yes, arguments are invalid for this one.

After an hour of pathetic tries to wash my hair with cold water in the damn tub, I finally succeeded. I considered shaving my legs too, but that was out of the question - if I stayed in for another minute, I was going to have a nasty cold on my… how to say this… anniversary.

I had to wear a 'I survived a year in the Varia and all I got is this shitty shirt' shirt, thanks to my promise. If I didn't, my comrades were going to eat me alive with the clothes and shoes, so I didn't have a choice. I found a clear pair of uniform pants and equally clear underwear and it was kind of a miracle. Thanks to experience, I stopped wearing high heels and wedges on daily basis, because it was simply uncomfortable and unpractical, but that didn't mean I stopped buying them. Finding a pair of shoes in this chaos called 'room' was hard too, but I succeeded with that too - after ten minutes of searching, my beloved leather above-the-knee boots were on my feet.

I straightened my hair carefully and that took me twenty minutes, because the damn thing became longer and longer (no time and inspiration to cut it), placing shitload of make-up that covered the nasty scar - another twenty. The scar was one of the two additions for this year.

It happened on a mission. It was only me and Francesco and we had to kill the ex-wife of a mafia boss from the Alliance. The bitch not only divorced the poor bastard after cheating with one of his subordinates, but she took almost all of his money. Too bad she wasn't too prepared for a nice friendly visit from us. Sex on Legs locked himself in the basement accidentally and I was the only one to deal with the bitch's crap. She turned out smarter than she looked and got me unprepared in a dark room. No, she didn't kill me (that's kinda obvious), but she managed to tear my right cheek with a damn kitchen knife. I made her burn when still breathing after I regained my posture.

That was two months ago and the painful cut was already fading, leaving only a thin line. The scar started from my right temple and almost reached the corner of my mouth. I considered finishing it and adding a matching one on my other cheek, just to be a real life Joker, but it didn't happen.

And that was the reason to spray my hair green and add the creepy make-up on Halloween. And I got so in-character that I started telling false stories about how I got the scar to every newbie that I saw. I even welcomed Sweetheart with 'Hello, beautiful!' on morning practice and he punched me right in the face. The bastard. I was just in-character. Anyways, the false stories became something like a habit, just to make my comrades laugh. At least they appreciated my acting.

Anyways, the second new thing in my life was that my father died four months ago. From cancer, as I learned. I learned about that after the funeral, when one of my cousins finally found a way to contact me to tell me the news. I didn't know how to react. To be honest, I didn't even cry, because he never felt like family to me. I felt weird and kind of sad for a couple of days and everything went back to normal.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Sweetheart asked, nice and friendly as always. What was wrong with me? Well, too many things actually, but what the fuck? None of them were new.

"What do you mean, Capt'n?"

"Your fucking shirt. And your fucking face. Are you wearing a mask or something, bitch?"

"No."

"Then what the hell is wrong with it?" I finally understood what he was trying to say. The bastard.

"Y' now, if there is a better way to cover ugly scars on your face - feel free to share with me. New methods are much welcomed, Capt'n."

"Don't fucking talk back. And don't whine - you wanna se an ugly scar - I'll fucking show you my back, chest and left hand."

"But it's not your face, dude! I mean, seriously!"

"Stop. Fucking. Bitching. I don't have a goddamn arm and you're whining about a tiny cut on your fucking face? The hell."

"But it's not the face!"

"SHUT UP ALREADY."

"Okay."

I was bitching? I WAS BITCHING? LOOK AT THE MIRROR, YOU DAMN MOTHERFUCKER, AND SEE WHO IS BITCHING! Anyways, let's think about something nicer and friendlier. The ceiling, for example. It was this lovely white color, only and only white and it had one spot that was slightly darker than the rest. Such a nice ceiling, I want the same one too. Damn, my ceiling is almost the same, just a little yellow, thanks to my smoking habit. My evil plan to think about something nice failed epically.

Sweetie was just the same as always - grumpy, angry, annoying, bitching, PMSing, giving me this peaceful and friendly feeling just to start hitting him in the head with something hard until his head is smashed to pieces on the floor and he is dead. Well, maybe he looked slightly older and finally his age (not fair. The bastard always, always looked slightly younger, maybe in his mid-twenties. Screw him). Whatever. I decided not to bother myself with this poor excuse for a good boss and finally ask him why the fuck did he call me, interrupting the holy action called 'smoking weed'.

"So, a new mission?" He nodded. "How much will you pay me?"

"WHATEVER I DECIDE TO FUCKING GIVE YOU. HERE'S THE FILE." He threw a plastic folder at my direction and I caught it by some kind of miracle. "NOW FUCK OFF BEFORE I CUT YOUR TONGUE AND SHOVE IT IN YOUR THROAT."

"But why? Don't you enjoy my company? Damn it, Boss, you're breaking my heart here! Don't you care?" I found an expensive laptop flying at my direction. "I thought you loved me, Alejandro!" The chair came after that. "You wanted to marry me and now you're kicking me out! How could you?!" A desk. "I thought that after I caught you with that slut, you were going to change, but you're still the same!" A lamp. "I hate that I love you, Alejandro! That's it! We are breaking up, but my love for you will never die!"

"JUST FUCK OFF ALREADY!"

"Don't you care about our children?! How can you be so horrible?!"

In the next moment, he grabbed my hair and slammed my face in the door. When I found myself in the hallway, my nose was bleeding and I was pretty sure it was broken, but that didn't stop me from laughing my ass off.

"Damn, Val, you look like shit. What happened to your nose?"

After the ultimate rejection, I returned to the not-looking-like-it-even-the-slightest kitchen to make myself a cup of nice espresso. At least the coffee machine wasn't broken after the last squad over-drinking. Fuck, this damn squad broke absolutely everything at least five times a week. And I thought that our boss was destructive. Actually, maybe it was just influence - we happened to spent at least half of our awake moments with the motherfucker. Yes, influence.

The sight of Dante welcomed me, after I haven't seen him for entire week. I almost hugged him. Almost. And the bastard's first words were about how shitty I looked. I felt rejected again. Not.

"Thanks for the reminder, dude, I really didn't notice that my nose was broken."

"Don't take it out on me, Val. Let me guess - you were trolling our wonderful boss again."

"No. Nothing like that. I just called him 'Alejandro' and accused him of cheating on me even if we were going to get married and we had two children. Dude, do you call that 'trolling'? What the hell?"

I noticed my friend was eating the last remaining of my pizza. Fuck these bastards called 'comrades'. Why did they always, fucking always, ate my food?! No, it's not like I'm the one who doesn't have a cent again, so it's completely acceptable to eat my food that I bought with my very last cents?

"I'm starting to notice something weird about you, Val. After your cheek got cut, your acting is becoming kind of superb."

"Is that a compliment?"

"No." All of the hope I had left after Capt'n rejected me got crushed to pieces by my somewhat best friend here. I swear the entire world is against me. Fuck. "I mean, it's not normal to call your boss different names every time. And to tell a different story about the scar every time somebody asked. Damn, you're even doing it when nobody is asking."

"Com-rade, there's a new Joker in town." I started biting the inside of my mouth, somewhat playing with both the tiny piece of silver on my tongue and the scar. There was this weir slurping sound and damn, wasn't I so in-character?

"No, Val, that's not weird. Not at all."

That made me think about myself and my attitude for the last months. Dante was right - I was acting less like me with every day that passed and damn, that worried me a little. Maybe this was the Varia effect. Maybe I finally became the so-called 'Varia Quality' and that meant I had to be insane. Or maybe I finally lost it, after twenty-two years of shitty life. Who knows? Well, not me.

"Anyways, where the fuck is the coffee?"

"There's no coffee for three or four days. Didn't you notice?" He gave me a worried glance. I just stared at him, feeling too stupid to say anything.

"You're right."

And everything just continued - my life, my work, the money flowing in my bank account and my acting skills. I still couldn't believe that I was here for a year, still alive and breathing, with no weird diseases and only three new scars. The strange thing was that it felt like I was part of the Varia since I was born - the line between this job and the life before it was quickly fading away. It was almost transparent now. I could predict my comrades' actins, how Sweetheart reacted when I decided to troll him, what small gifts Lussy had for me, how much money I was going to receive after every mission.

Predictable - yes, boring - never. That's how every single day of my life was. I just lighted a cigarette for that occasion and took a deep breath.

P.S. How Valentina turned out was pretty much the only thing I knew for the story since the beginning. Let's just say she wasn't insane enough for the Varia at the beginning, but I'm still kinda sad.